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B 


0 


I^  It.  Stevenson 


ANJS 


Lloyd  0-:, 


rH^ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
Robert  B.  Hone ym an,  Jr. 


r' 


UJ^., 


5^'  /O'  0 


THE 


WRONG     BOX 


BY 

KOBEET    LOUIS     STEVENSON 

Author  of  ^  Dr  Jekyll  and  Mi'  Hyde*  dc 
AND 

LLOYD   OSBOUKNE 


LONDON 

LONGMANS,     GKEEN,    AND    CO. 

1889 

All    rights    reserved 


WORKS    BY    ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE. 

EDINBURGH:  Picturesque  Notes. 

TRAVELS  WITH  A  DONKEY. 

VIRGINIBUS  PUERISQUE. 

FAMILIAR  STUDIES  OF  MEN  AND  BOO^S. 

NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHTS. 

TREASURE  ISLAND. 

THE  SILVERADO  SQUATTERS. 

A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES. 

PRINCE  OTTO. 

KIDNAPPED. 

THE  MERRY  MEN. 

THE  BLACK  ARROW. 

STRANGE  CASE  OF  DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE. 

(WITH  MRS.  STEVENSON.) 

MORE  NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHTS :  The  Dynamitee. 


PEEFACE 

'  Nothing  like  a  little  judicious  levity,'  says  Michael 

Finsbury  in  the  text :  nor  can  any  better  excuse  be 

found   for  the  volume  in  the  reader's  hand.     The 

authors  can  but  add  that  one  of  them  is  old  enough 

to   be   ashamed  of  himself,  and   the   other  young 

enough  to  learn  better. 

E.  L.  S. 

L.  0. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    In  which  MoEEis  Suspects        ....  1 
II.    In  which  Mobbis  takes  Action       .       .       .22 

III.  The  Lectubbb  at  Laege 46 

IV.  The  Magistbate  in  the  Luggage  Van  .        .  63 

V.    Me.  Gideon  Foesyth  and  the  Gigantic  Box  70 

VI.    The    Teibulations    op    Mobbis  :    Pabt    the 

FlEST 85 

VII.    In    which    William    Dent     Pitman     takes 

Legal  Advice 107 

VIII.    In  which  Michael  Finsbuey  Enjoys  a  Holi- 
day     125 

IX.    Globious  Conclusion  op  Michael  Finsbuby's 

Holiday 154 

X.    Gideon  Foesyth  and  the  Beoadwood  Geand  177 

XL    The  Mabsteo  Jimson 191 

XII.    Positively    the    Last    Appeaeance    of    the 

Beoadwood  Geand 215 

XIII.  The    Teibulations    of    Mobbis  :    Pabt    the 

Second 229 

XIV.  William  Bent  Pitman  Heaes  op  Something 

TO  His  Advantage 244 

XV.    The  Eetuen  of  the  Geeat  Vance  .       ,       .266 

XVI.    Final  Adjustment  of  the  Leathee  Business  277 


THE    WEONG   BOX 

CHAPTER   I 

IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

How  very  little  does  the  amateur,  dwelling  at  home 
at  ease,  comprehend  the  labours  and  perils  of  the 
author,  and,  when  he  smilingly  skims  the  surface 
of  a  work  of  fiction,  how  little  does  he  consider  the 
hours  of  toil,  consultation  of  authorities,  researches 
in  the  Bodleian,  correspondence  with  learned  and 
illegible  Germans — in  one  word,  the  vast  scaffolding 
that  was  first  built  up  and  then  knocked  down,  to 
while  away  an  hour  for  him  in  a  railway  train  ! 
Thus  I  might  begin  this  tale  with  a  biography  of 
Tonti — birthplace,  parentage,  genius  probably  in- 
herited from  his  mother,  remarkable  instance  of  pre- 
cocity, &c.— and  a  complete  treatise  on  the  system 
to  which  he  bequeathed  his  name.     The  material  is 

B 


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all  beside  me  in  a  pigeon-hole,  but  I  scorn  to  appear 
vainglorious.  Tonti  is  dead,  and  I  never  saw  anyone 
who  even  pretended  to  regret  him ;  and,  as  for  the 
tontine  system,  a  word  will  suffice  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  this  unvarnished  narrative. 

A  number  of  sprightly  youths  (the  more  the 
merrier)  put  up  a  certain  sum  of  money,  which  is 
then  funded  in  a  pool  under  trustees  ;  coming  on  for 
a  century  later,  the  proceeds  are  fluttered  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  face  of  the  last  survivor,  who  is  probably 
deaf,  so  that  he  cannot  even  hear  of  his  success — and 
who  is  certainly  dying,  so  that  he  might  just  as  well 
have  lost.  The  peculiar  poetry  and  even  humour  of 
the  scheme  is  now  apparent,  since  it  is  one  by  which 
nobody  concerned  can  possibly  profit;  but  its  fine, 
sportsmanlike  character  endeared  it  to  our  grand- 
parents. 

When  Joseph  Finsbury  and  his  brother  Master- 
man  were  little  lads  in  white-frilled  trousers,  their 
father — a  well-to-do  merchant  in  Cheapside — caused 
them  to  join  a  small  but  rich  tontine  of  seven-and- 
thirty  lives.  A  thousand  pounds  was  the  entrance 
fee ;  and  Joseph  Finsbury  can  remember  to  this  day 
the  visit  to  the  lawyer's,  where  the  members  of  the 
tontine — all  children  like  himself — were  assembled 
together,  and  sat  in  turn  in  the  big  office  chair,  and 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS 


signed  their  names  with  the  assistance  of  a  kind  old 
gentleman  in  spectacles  and  Wellington  boots.  He 
remembers  playing  with  the  children  afterwards  on 
the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the  lawyer's  house,  and  a 
battle  royal  that  he  had  with  a  brother  tontiner  who 
had  kicked  his  shins.  The  sound  of  war  called  forth 
the  lawyer  from  where  he  was  dispensing  cake  and 
wine  to  the  assembled  parents  in  the  office,  and  the 
combatants  were  separated,  and  Joseph's  spirit  (for 
he  was  the  smaller  of  the  two)  commended  by  the 
gentleman  in  the  Wellington  boots,  who  vowed  he 
had  been  just  such  another  at  the  same  age.  Joseph 
wondered  to  himself  if  he  had  worn  at  that  time  little 
AYellingtons  and  a  little  bald  head,  and  when,  in  bed 
at  night,  he  grew  tired  of  telling  himself  stories  of 
sea-fights,  he  used  to  dress  himself  up  as  the  old 
gentleman,  and  entertain  other  little  boys  and  girls 
with  cake  and  wine. 

In  the  year  1840  the  thirty-seven  were  all  alive ; 
in  1850  their  number  had  decreased  by  six;  in  1856 
and  1857  business  was  more  lively,  for  the  Crimea 
and  the  Mutiny  carried  off  no  less  than  nine.  There 
remained  in  1870  but  five  of  the  original  members, 
and  at  the  date  of  my  story,  including  the  two  Fins- 
burys,  but  three. 

By  this  time  Masterman  was  in  his  seventy-third 

b2 


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year ;  he  had  long  complained  of  the  effects  of  age, 
had  long  since  retired  from  business,  and  now  lived 
in  absolute  seclusion  under  the  roof  of  his  son 
Michael,  the  well-known  solicitor.  Joseph,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  still  up  and  about,  and  still  pre- 
sented but  a  semi-venerable  figure  on  the  streets  in 
which  he  loved  to  wander.  This  was  the  more  to  be 
deplored  because  Masterman  had  led  (even  to  the 
least  particular)  a  model  British  life.  Industry,  re- 
gularity, respectability,  and  a  preference  for  the  four 
per  cents,  are  understood  to  be  the  very  foundations 
of  a  green  old  age.  All  these  Masterman  had  emi- 
nently displayed,  and  here  he  was,  oh  agendo,  at 
seventy-three;  while  Joseph,  barely  two  years 
younger,  and  in  the  most  excellent  preservation, 
had  disgraced  himself  through  life  by  idleness  and 
eccentricity.  Embarked  in  the  leather  trade,  he  had 
early  wearied  of  business,  for  which  he  was  supposed 
to  have  small  parts.  A  taste  for  general  information, 
not  promptly  checked,  had  soon  begun  to  sap  his 
manhood.  There  is  no  passion  more  debilitating  to 
the  mind,  unless,  perhaps,  it  be  that  itch  of  public 
speaking  which  it  not  infrequently  accompanies  or 
begets.  The  two  were  conjoined  in  the  case  of 
Joseph ;  the  acute  stage  of  this  double  malady,  that 
in  which   the  patient  delivers  gratuitous  lectures, 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  5 

soon  declared  itself  with  severity,  and  not  many  years 
had  passed  over  his  head  before  he  would  have  tra- 
velled thirty  miles  to  address  an  infant  school.  He 
was  no  student ;  his  reading  was  confined  to  ele- 
mentary text-books  and  the  daily  papers  ;  he  did  not 
even  fly  as  high  as  cyclopaedias ;  life,  he  would  say, 
has  his  volume.  His  lectures  were  not  meant,  he 
would  declare,  for  college  professors ;  they  were 
addressed  direct  to  '  the  great  heart  of  the  people,' 
and  the  heart  of  the  people  must  certainly  be  sounder 
than  its  head,  for  his  lucubrations  were  received  with 
favour.  That  entitled,  '  How  to  Live  Cheerfully  on 
Forty  Pounds  a  Year,'  created  a  sensation  among  the 
unemployed.  '  Education :  Its  Aims,  Objects,  Pur- 
poses, and  Desirability,'  gained  him  the  respect  of 
the  shallow-minded.  As  for  his  celebrated  essay  on 
'Life  Insurance  Eegarded  in  its  Eelation  to  the 
Masses,'  read  before  the  Working  Men's  Mutual^ 
Improvement  Society,  Isle  of  Dogs,  it  was  received 
with  a  ^  literal  ovation  '  by  an  unintelligent  audience 
of  both  sexes,  and  so  marked  was  the  effect  that  he 
was  next  year  elected  honorary  president  of  the  in- 
stitution, an  office  of  less  than  no  emolument,  since 
the  holder  was  expected  to  come  down  with  a  dona- 
tion, but  one  which  highly  satisfied  his  self-esteem. 
While  Joseph  was  thus  building  himself  up  a 


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reputation  among  the  more  cultivated  portion  of  the 
ignorant,  his  domestic  life  was  suddenly  overwhelmed 
by  orphans.    The  death  of  his  younger  brother  Jacob 
saddled  him  with  the  charge  of  two  boys,  Morris  and 
John  ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  same  year  his  family 
was  still  further  swelled  by  the  addition  of  a  little 
girl,  the  daughter  of  John  Henry  Hazeltine,  Esq.,  a 
gentleman  of  small  property  and  fewer  friends.     He 
had  met  Joseph  only  once,  at  a  lecture-hall  in  Hollo- 
way  ;  but  from  that  formative  experience  he  returned 
home  to  make  a  new  will,  and  consign  his  daughter 
and  her  fortune  to  the  lecturer.    Joseph  had  a  kindly 
disposition;  and  yet  it  was  not  without  reluctance 
that  he  accepted  this  new  responsibility,  advertised 
for  a  nurse,  and  purchased  a  second-hand  perambu- 
lator.     Morris   and   John    he   made   more   readily 
welcome ;  not  so  much  because  of  the  tie  of  consan- 
guinity as  because  the  leather  business  (in  which  he 
hastened  to  invest  their  fortune  of  thirty  thousand 
pounds)  had  recently  exhibited  inexplicable  symp- 
toms of  decline.     A  young  but  capable   Scot  was 
chosen  as  manager  to  the  enterprise,  and  the  cares 
of  business  never  again  afflicted  Joseph  Finsbury. 
Leaving  his  charges  in  the  hands  of  the  capable  Scot 
(who  was  married),  he  began  his  extensive  travels  on 
the  Continent  and  in  Asia  Minor. 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS 


With  a  polyglot  Testament  in  one  hand  and  a 
phrase-book  in  the  other,  he  groped  his  way  among 
the  speakers  of  eleven  European  languages.  The  first 
of  these  guides  is  hardly  applicable  to  the  purposes 
of  the  philosophic  traveller,  and  even  the  second  is 
designed  more  expressly  for  the  tourist  than  for  the 
expert  in  life.  But  he  pressed  interpreters  into  his 
service — whenever  he  could  get  their  services  for 
nothing — and  by  one  means  and  another  filled  many 
notebooks  with  the  results  of  his  researches. 

In  these  wanderings  he  spent  several  years,  and 
only  returned  to  England  when  the  increasing  age  of 
his  charges  needed  his  attention.  The  two  lads  had 
been  placed  in  a  good  but  economical  school,  where 
they  had  received  a  sound  commercial  education ; 
which  was  somewhat  awkward,  as  the  leather  busi- 
ness was  by  no  means  in  a  state  to  court  inquiry. 
In  fact,  when  Joseph  went  over  his  accounts  prepara- 
tory to  surrendering  his  trust,  he  was  dismayed  to 
discover  that  his  brother's  fortune  had  not  increased 
by  his  stewardship ;  even  by  making  over  to  his  two 
wards  every  penny  he  had  in  the  world,  there  would 
still  be  a  deficit  of  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds.  When  these  facts  were  communicated  to 
the  two  brothers  in  the  presence  of  a  lawyer,  Morris 
Finsbury  threatened  his  uncle  with  all  the  terrors  of 


THE    WRONG  BOX 


the  law,  and  was  only  prevented  from  taking  extreme 
steps  by  the  advice  of  the  professional  man. 

*You  cannot  get  blood  from  a  stone,'  observed 
the  lawyer. 

And  Morris  saw  the  point  and  came  to  terms 
with  his  uncle.  On  the  one  side,  Joseph  gave  up  all 
that  he  possessed  and  assigned  to  his  nephew  his 
contingent  interest  in  the  tontine,  already  quite  a 
hopeful  speculation.  On  the  other,  Morris  agreed  to 
harbour  his  uncle  and  Miss  Hazeltine  (who  had  come 
to  grief  with  the  rest),  and  to  pay  to  each  of  them 
one  pound  a  month  as  pocket-money.  The  allowance 
was  amply  sufficient  for  the  old  man ;  it  scarce  ap- 
pears how  Miss  Hazeltine  contrived  to  dress  upon  it ; 
but  she  did,  and  what  is  more  she  never  complained. 
She  was,  indeed,  sincerely  attached  to  her  incompe- 
tent guardian.  He  had  never  been  unkind  ;  his  age 
spoke  for  him  loudly ;  there  was  something  appeal- 
ing in  his  whole-souled  quest  of  knowledge  and  inno- 
cent delight  in  the  smallest  mark  of  admiration;  and, 
though  the  lawyer  had  warned  her  she  was  being 
sacrificed,  Julia  had  refused  to  add  to  the  perplexities 
of  Uncle  Joseph. 

In  a  large,  dreary  house  in  John  Street,  Blooms- 
bury,  these  four  dwelt  together ;  a  family  in  appear- 
ance, in  reality  a  financial   association,     Julia  and 


IN   WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  9 

Uncle  Joseph  were,  of  course,  slaves ;  John,  a  gentle- 
man with  a  taste  for  the  banjo,  the  music-hall,  the 
Gaiety  bar,  and  the  sporting  papers,  must  have  been 
anywhere  a  secondary  figure ;  and  the  cares  and 
delights  of  empire  devolved  entirely  upon  Morris. 
That  these  are  inextricably  intermixed  is  one  of  the 
commonplaces  with  which  the  bland  essayist  consoles 
the  incompetent  and  the  obscure,  but  in  the  case  of 
Morris  the  bitter  must  have  largely  outweighed  the 
sweet.  He  grudged  no  trouble  to  himself,  he  spared 
none  to  others ;  he  called  the  servants  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  served  out  the  stores  with  his  own  hand, 
he  took  soundings  of  the  sherry,  he  numbered  the 
remainder  biscuits ;  painful  scenes  took  place  over 
the  weekly  bills,  and  the  cook  was  frequently  im- 
peached, and  the  tradespeople  came  and  hectored 
with  him  in  the  back  parlour  upon  a  question  of 
three  farthings.  The  superficial  might  have  deemed 
him  a  miser ;  in  his  own  eyes  he  was  simply  a  man 
who  had  been  defrauded ;  the  world  owed  him  seven 
thousand  eight  hundred  pounds,  and  he  intended 
that  the  world  should  pay. 

But  it  was  in  his  dealings  with  Joseph  that 
Morris's  character  particularly  shone.  His  uncle  was 
a  rather  gambling  stock  in  which  he  had  invested 
heavily;    and  he  spared  no   pains   in  nursing   the 


lo  THE    WRONG  BOX 

security.  The  old  man  was  seen  monthly  by  a  phy- 
sician, whether  he  was  well  or  ill.  His  diet,  his 
raiment,  his  occasional  outings,  now  to  Brighton, 
now  to  Bournemouth,  were  doled  out  to  him  like  pap 
to  infants.  In  bad  weather  he  must  keep  the  house. 
In  good  weather,  by  half-past  nine,  he  must  be  ready 
in  the  hall ;  Morris  would  see  that  he  had  gloves 
and  that  his  shoes  were  sound ;  and  the  pair  would 
start  for  the  leather  business  arm  in  arm.  The  way 
there  was  probably  dreary  enough,  for  there  was  no 
pretence  of  friendly  feeling ;  Morris  had  never  ceased 
to  upbraid  his  guardian  with  his  defalcation  and  to 
lament  the  burthen  of  Miss  Hazeltine ;  and  Joseph, 
though  he  was  a  mild  enough  soul,  regarded  his 
nephew  with  something  very  near  akin  to  hatred. 
But  the  way  there  was  nothing  to  the  journey  back ; 
for  the  mere  sight  of  the  place  of  business,  as  well 
as  every  detail  of  its  transactions,  was  enough  to 
poison  life  for  any  Finsbury. 

Joseph's  name  was  still  over  the  door ;  it  was  he 
who  still  signed  the  cheques ;  but  this  was  only 
policy  on  the  part  of  Morris,  and  designed  to  dis- 
courage other  members  of  the  tontine.  In  reality 
the  business  was  entirely  his;  and  he  found  it  an 
inheritance  of  sorrows.  He  tried  to  sell  it,  and  the 
offers  he  received  were  quite  derisory.     He  tried  to 


IN   WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  ii 

extend  ib,  and  it  was  only  the  liabilities  lie  succeeded 
in  extending ;  to  restrict  it,  and  it  was  only  the 
profits  he  managed  to  restrict.  Nobody  had  ever 
made  money  out  of  that  concern  except  the  capable 
Scot,  who  retired  (after  his  discharge)  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Banff  and  built  a  castle  with  his  profits. 
The  memory  of  this  fallacious  Caledonian,  Morris 
would  revile  daily,  as  he  sat  in  the  private  office 
opening  his  mail,  with  old  Joseph  at  another  table, 
sullenly  awaiting  orders,  or  savagely  affixing  signa- 
tures to  he  knew  not  what.  And  when  the  man  of 
the  heather  pushed  cynicism  so  far  as  to  send  him 
the  announcement  of  his  second  marriage  (to  Davida, 
eldest  daughter  of  the  Eev.  Alexander  McCraw)  it 
was  really  supposed  that  Morris  would  have  had  a 
fit. 

Business  hours,  in  the  Finsbury  leather  trade, 
had  been  cut  to  the  quick;  even  Morris's  strong 
sense  of  duty  to  himself  was  not  strong  enough  to 
dally  within  those  walls  and  under  the  shadow  of 
that  bankruptcy  ;  and  presently  the  manager  and 
the  clerks  would  draw  a  long  breath,  and  compose 
themselves  for  another  day  of  procrastination.  Raw 
Haste,  on  the  authority  of  my  Lord  Tennyson,  is 
half-sister  to  Delay ;  but  the  Business  Habits  are 
certainly     her     uncles.       Meanwhile,    the     leather 


12  THE    WRONG  BOX 

merchant  would  lead  his  living  investment  back  to 
John  Street  like  a  puppy  dog ;  and,  having  there 
immured  him  in  the  hall,  would  depart  for  the  day 
on  the  quest  of  seal  rings,  the  only  passion  of  his 
life.  Joseph  had  more  than  the  vanity  of  man,  he 
had  that  of  lecturers.  He  owned  he  was  in  fault, 
although  more  sinned  against  (by  the  capable  Scot) 
than  sinning  ;  but  had  he  steeped  his  hands  in  gore, 
he  would  still  not  deserve  to  be  thus  dragged  at  the 
chariot-wheels  of  a  young  man,  to  sit  a  captive  in 
the  halls  of  his  own  leather  business,  to  be  enter- 
tained with  mortifying  comments  on  his  whole 
career — to  have  his  costume  examined,  his  collar 
pulled  up,  the  presence  of  his  mittens  verified,  and  to 
be  taken  out  and  brought  home  in  custody,  like  an 
infant  with  a  nurse.  At  the  thought  of  it  his  soul 
would  swell  with  venom,  and  he  would  make  haste 
to  hang  up  his  hat  and  coat  and  the  detested 
mittens,  and  slink  upstairs  to  Julia  and  his  note- 
books. The  drawing-room  at  least  was  sacred  from 
Morris ;  it  belonged  to  the  old  man  and  the  young 
girl ;  it  was  there  that  she  made  her  dresses ;  it  was 
there  that  he  inked  his  spectacles  over  the  registra- 
tion of  disconnected  facts  and  the  calculation  of  in- 
significant statistics. 

Here  he  would  sometimes  lament  his  connection 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  13 

with  the  tontine.  '  If  it  were  not  for  that,'  he  cried 
one  afternoon,  '  he  would  not  care  to  keep  me.  I 
might  be  a  free  man,  Julia.  And  I  could  so  easily 
support  myself  by  giving  lectures.' 

'  To  be  sure  you  could,'  said  she ;  '  and  I  think 
it  one  of  the  meanest  things  he  ever  did  to  deprive 
you  of  that  amusement.  There  were  those  nice 
people  at  the  Isle  of  Cats  (wasn't  it?)  who  wrote 
and  asked  you  so  very  kindly  to  give  them  an 
address.  I  did  think  he  might  have  let  you  go  to 
the  Isle  of  Cats.' 

^  He  is  a  man  of  no  intelligence,'  cried  Joseph. 
*  He  lives  here  literally  surrounded  by  the  absorbing 
spectacle  of  life,  and  for  all  the  good  it  does  him,  he 
might  just  as  well  be  in  his  coflSn.  Think  of  his 
opportunities  !  The  heart  of  any  other  young  man 
would  burn  within  him  at  the  chance.  The  amount 
of  information  that  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  convey, 
if  he  would  only  listen,  is  a  thing  that  beggars  lan- 
guage, Julia.' 

'  Whatever  you  do,  my  dear,  you  mustn't  excite 
yourself,'  said  Julia ;  ^  for  you  know,  if  you  look  at 
all  ill,  the  doctor  will  be  sent  for.' 

'  That  is  very  true,'  returned  the  old  man 
humbly,  ^  I  will  compose  myself  with  a  little  study/ 
He  thumbed  his  gallery  of  note-books.     '  I  wonder,' 


14  THE   WRONG  BOX 

he  said,  '  I  wonder  (since  I  see  your  hands  are  occu- 
pied) whether  it  might  not  interest  you ' 

*  Why,  of  course  it  would,'  cried  Julia.  '  Read 
me  one  of  your  nice  stories,  there's  a  dear  ! ' 

He  had  the  volume  down  and  his  spectacles  upon 
his  nose  instanter,  as  though  to  forestall  some  pos- 
sible retractation.  '  What  I  propose  to  read  to  you,' 
said  he,  skimming  through  the  pages,  ^  is  the  notes 
of  a  highly  important  conversation  with  a  Dutch 
courier  of  the  name  of  David  Abbas,  which  is  the 
Latin  for  abbot.  Its  results  are  well  worth  the 
money  it  cost  me,  for,  as  Abbas  at  first  appeared 
somewhat  impatient,  I  was  induced  to  (what  is, 
I  believe,  singularly  called)  stand  him  drink.  It 
runs  only  to  about  five-and-twenty  pages.  Yes, 
here  it  is.'  He  cleared  his  throat,  and  began  to 
read. 

Mr.  Finsbury  (according  to  his  own  report)  con- 
tributed about  four  hundred  and  ninety-nine  five- 
hundredths  of  the  interview,  and  elicited  from  Abbas 
literally  nothing.  It  was  dull  for  Julia,  who  did 
not  require  to  listen ;  for  the  Dutch  courier,  who  had 
to  answer,  it  must  have  been  a  perfect  nightmare. 
It  would  seem  as  if  he  had  consoled  himself  by 
frequent  applications  to  the  bottle;  it  would  even 
seem  that  (toward  the  end)  he  had  ceased  to  depend 


IN   WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  15 

on  Joseph's  frugal  generosity  and  called  for  the 
flagon  on  his  own  account.  The  effect,  at  least,  of 
some  mellowing  influence  was  visible  in  the  record  : 
Abbas  became  suddenly  a  willing  witness  ;  he  began 
to  volunteer  disclosures ;  and  Julia  had  just  looked 
up  from  her  seam  with  something  like  a  smile,  when 
Morris  burst  into  the  house,  eagerly  calling  for  his 
uncle,  and  the  next  instant  plunged  into  the  room, 
waving  in  the  air  the  evening  paper. 

It  was  indeed  with  great  news  that  he  came 
charged.  The  demise  was  announced  of  Lieutenant- 
General  Sir  Glascow  Biggar,  K.O.S.I.,  K.C.M.G., 
&c.,  and  the  prize  of  the  tontine  now  lay  between 
the  Finsbury  brothers.  Here  was  Morris's  oppor- 
tunity at  last.  The  brothers  had  never,  it  is  true, 
been  cordial.  When  word  came  that  Joseph  was  in 
Asia  Minor,  Masterman  had  expressed  himself  with 
irritation.  '  I  call  it  simply  indecent,'  he  had  said. 
'  Mark  my  words — we  shall  hear  of  him  next  at  the 
North  Pole.'  And  these  bitter  expressions  had  been 
reported  to  the  traveller  on  his  return.  What  was 
worse,  Masterman  had  refused  to  attend  the  lecture 
on  '  Education :  Its  Aims,  Objects,  Purposes,  and  De- 
sirability,' although  invited  to  the  platform.  Since 
then  the  brothers  had  not  met.  On  the  other  hand 
they    never    had    openly   quarrelled;    Joseph    (by 


i6  THE   WRONG  BOX 


Morris's  orders)  was  prepared  to  waive  the  advantage 
of  his  juniority  ;  Masterman  had  enjoyed  all  through 
life  the  reputation  of  a  man  neither  greedy  nor 
unfair.  Here,  then,  were  all  the  elements  of  com- 
promise assembled  ;  and  Morris,  suddenly  beholding 
his  seven  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds  restored 
tQ  him,  and  himself  dismissed  from  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  leather  trade,  hastened  the  next  morning  to 
the  office  of  his  cousin  Michael. 

Michael  was  something  of  a  public  character. 
Launched  upon  the  law  at  a  very  early  age,  and 
quite  without  protectors,  he  had  become  a  trafficker 
in  shady  affairs.  He  was  known  to  be  the  man  for 
a  lost  cause ;  it  was  known  he  could  extract  testimony 
from  a  stone,  and  interest  from  a  gold  mine ;  and 
his  office  was  besieged  in  consequence  by  all  that 
numerous  class  of  persons  who  have  still  some  repu- 
tation to  lose,  and  find  themselves  upon  the  point  of 
losing  it ;  by  those  who  have  made  undesirable  ac- 
quaintances, who  have  mislaid  a  compromising 
correspondence,  or' who  are  blackmailed  by  their 
own  butlers.  In  private  life,  Michael  was  a  man  of 
pleasure ;  but  it  was  thought  his  dire  experience  at 
the  office  had  gone  far  to  sober  him,  and  it  was 
known  that  (in  the  matter  of  investments)  he  pre- 
ferred the   solid   to  the  brilliant.     What  was  yet 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  17 

more  to  the  purpose,  lie  liad  been  all  his  life  a  con- 
sistent scoffer  at  the  Finsbury  tontine. 

It  was  therefore  with  little  fear  for  the  result 
that  Morris  presented  himself  })efore  his  cousin,  and 
proceeded  feverishly  to  set  forth  his  scheme.  For 
near  upon  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  lawyer  suffered 
him  to  dwell  upon  its  manifest  advantages  un- 
interrupted. Then  Michael  rose  from  his  seat,  and, 
ringing  for  his  clerk,  uttered  a  single  clause. 

'  It  won't  do,  Morris.' 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  leather  merchant  pleaded 
and  reasoned,  and  returned  day  after  day  to  plead 
and  reason.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  offered  a  bonus 
of  one  thousand,  of  tw^o  thousand,  of  three  thousand 
pounds  ;  in  vain  that  he  offered,  in  Joseph's  name, 
to  be  content  with  only  one-third  of  the  pool.  Still 
there  came  the  same  answer  :  ^  It  won't  do.' 

'  I  can't  see  the  bottom  of  this,'  he  said  at  last. 
^  You  answer  none  of  my  arguments,  you  haven't  a 
word  to  say.     For  my  part,  I  believe  it's  malice.' 

The  lawyer  smiled  at  him  benignly.  '  You  may 
believe  one  thing,'  said  he ;  ^  whatever  else  I  do,  I 
am  not  going  to  gratify  any  of  your  curiosity.  You 
see  I  am  a  trifle  more  communicative  to-day,  be- 
cause this  is  our  last  interview  upon  the  subject.' 

'  Our  last  interview  ! '  cried  Morris. 

C 


i8  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*The  stirrup-cup,  dear   boy/  returned  Michael. 

*  I  can't  have  my  business  hours  encroached  upon. 
And  by  the  by,  have  you  no  business  of  your  own  ? 
Are  there  no  convulsions  in  the  leather  trade  ? ' 

*  I  believe  it  to  be  malice,*  repeated  Morris  dog- 
gedly. *  You  always  hated  and  despised  me  from  a  boy.' 

'  No,  no — not  hated,'  returned  Michael  sooth- 
ingly. '  I  rather  like  you  than  otherwise ;  there's 
such  a  permanent  surprise  about  you,  you  look  so 
dark  and  attractive  from  a  distance.  Do  you  know 
that  to  the  naked  eye  you  look  romantic? — like 
what  they  call  a  man  with  a  history  ?  And  indeed, 
from  all  that  I  can  hear,  the  history  of  the  leather 
trade  is  full  of  incident.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Morris,  disregarding  these  remarks, 

*  it's  no  use  coming  here.     I  shall  see  your  father.' 

*  Oh,  no,  you  won't,'  said  Michael.  '  Nobody 
shall  see  my  father.' 

'  I  should  like  to  know  why,'  cried  his  cousin. 

'I  never  make  any  secret  of  that,'  replied  the 
lawyer.     '  He  is  too  ill.' 

^  If  he  is  as  ill  as  you  say,'  cried  the  other,  '  the 
more  reason  for  accepting  my  proposal.  I  will  see 
him.' 

'  Will  you  ?  '  said  Michael,  and  he  rose  and  rang 
for  his  clerk. 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS  19 

It  was  now  time,  according  to  Sir  Faraday  Bond, 
the  medical  baronet  whose  name  is  so  familiar  at  the 
foot  of  bulletins,  that  Joseph  (the  poor  Golden  Goose) 
should  be  removed  into   the  purer  air  of  Bourne- 
mouth ;  and  for  that  uncharted  wilderness  of  villas 
the  family  now  shook  off  the  dust  of  Bloomsbury : 
Julia  delighted,  because  at  Bournemouth  she  some- 
times made  acquaintances ;  John  in  despair,  for  he 
was  a  man  of  city  tastes ;  Joseph  indifferent  where 
he  was,  so  long  as  there  was  pen  and  ink  and  daily 
papers,  and  he  could  avoid  martyrdom  at  the  office  ; 
Morris  himself,  perhaps,  not  displeased  to  pretermit 
these  visits  to  the  city,  and  have  a  quiet  time  for 
thought.     He  was  prepared  for  any  sacrifice  ;  all  he 
desired  was  to  get  his  money  again  and  clear  his 
feet  of  leather;  and  it  would  be  strange,  since  he 
was  so  modest  in  his  desires  and  the  pool  amounted 
to  upward  of  a  hundred  and  sixteen  thousand  pounds 
— it  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  he  could  find  no 
way  of  influencing  Michael.     '  If  I  could  only  guess 
his  reason,'  he  repeated  to  himself;  and  by  day,  as  he 
walked  in  Branksome  woods,  and  by  night,  as  he 
turned  upon  his  bed,  and  at  meal  times,  when  he 
forgot  to  eat,  and  in  the  bathing  machine,  when  he 
forgot  to  dress  himself,  that  problem  was  constantly 
before  him  :  why  had  Michael  refused  ? 

c2 


THE    WRONG  BOX 


At  last,  one  night,  he  burst  into  his  brother's 
room  and  woke  him. 

'  What's  all  this  ? '  asked  John. 

*  J  ulia  leaves  this  place  to-morrow,'  replied  Morris. 

*  She  must  go  up  to  town  and  get  the  house  ready, 
and  find  servants.  We  shall  all  follow  in  three 
days.' 

*  Oh,  brayvo ! '  cried  John.     *  But  why  ?  ' 

*  I've  found  it  out,  John,'  returned  his  brother 
gently. 

« It  ?     What  ? '  inquired  John. 

*  Why  ^Michael  won't  compromise,'  said  Morris. 

*  It's  because  he  can't.  It's  because  Masterman's 
dead,  and  he's  keeping  it  dark.' 

*  Golly!'  cried  the  impressionable  John.  'But 
what's  the  use  ?     Why  does  he  do  it,  anyway  ?  ' 

*  To  defraud  us  of  the  tontine,'  said  his  brother. 

*  He  couldn't ;  you  have  to  have  a  doctor's  certi- 
ficate,' objected  John. 

*  Did  you  never  hear  of  venal  doctors  ?  '  inquired 
Morris.  *  They're  as  common  as  blackberries  ;  you 
can  pick  'em  up  for  three  pound  ten  a  head.' 

*  I  wouldn't  do  it  under  fifty  if  I  were  a  saw- 
bones,' ejaculated  John. 

'  And  then  Michael,'  continued  Morris,  '  is  in  the 
very  thick  of  it.     All  his  clients  have  come  to  grief; 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS    SUSPECTS  21 

his  whole  business  is  rotten  eggs.  If  any  man  could 
arrange  it,  he  could ;  and  depend  upon  it,  he  has  his 
plan  all  straight;  and  depend  upon  it,  it's  a  good 
one,  for  he's  clever  and  be  damned  to  him  !  But  I'm 
clever,  too ;  and  I'm  desperate.  I  lost  seven  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  pounds  when  I  was  an  orphan  at 
school.' 

'  Oh,  don't  be  tedious,'  interrupted  John.  '  You've 
lost  far  more  already  trying  to  get  it  back.' 


22  THE   WRONG  BOX 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

Some  days  later,  accordingly,  the  three  males  of  this 
depressing  family  might  have  been  observed  (by  a 
reader  of  G.  P.  R.  James)  taking  their  departure 
from  the  East  Station  of  Bournemouth.  The  weather 
was  raw  and  changeable,  and  Joseph  was  arrayed  in 
consequence  according  to  the  principles  of  Sir  Fara- 
day Bond,  a  man  no  less  strict  (as  is  well  known)  on 
costume  than  on  diet.  There  are  few  polite  invalids 
who  have  not  lived,  or  tried  to  live,  by  that  punc- 
tilious physician's  orders.  '  Avoid  tea,  madam,'  the 
reader  has  doubtless  heard  him  say,  *  avoid  tea,  fried 
liver,  antimonial  wine,  and  bakers'  bread.  Retire 
nightly  at  10.45  ;  and  clothe  yourself  (if  you  please) 
throughout  in  hygienic  flannel.  Externally,  the  fur 
of  the  marten  is  indicated.  Do  not  forget  to  procure 
a  pair  of  health  boots  at  Messrs.  Dall  &  Crumbie's.' 
And  he  has  probably  called  you  back,  even  after  you 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       23 

have  paid  your  fee,  to  add  witli  stentorian  emphasis  : 
'  I  had  forgotten  one  caution :  avoid  kippered  stur- 
geon as  you  would  the  very  devil ! '  The  unfortunate 
Joseph  was  cut  to  the  pattern  of  Sir  Faraday  in  every 
button ;  he  was  shod  with  the  health  boot ;  his  suit 
was  of  genuine  ventilating  cloth ;  his  shirt  of  hygi- 
enic flannel,  a  somewhat  dingy  fabric ;  and  he  was 
draped  to  the  knees  in  the  inevitable  great-coat  of 
marten's  fur.  The  very  railway  porters  at  Bourne- 
mouth (which  was  a  favourite  station  of  the  doctor's) 
marked  the  old  gentleman  for  a  creature  of  Sir  Fara^ 
day.  There  was  but  one  evidence  of  personal  taste, 
a  vizarded  forage-cap ;  from  this  form  of  headpiece, 
since  he  had  fled  from  a  dying  jackal  on  the  plains 
of  Ephesus,  and  weathered  a  bora  in  the  Adriatic, 
nothing  could  divorce  our  traveller. 

The  three  Finsburys  mounted  into  their  compart- 
ment, and  fell  immediately  to  quarrelling,  a  step  un- 
seemly in  itself  and  (in  this  case)  highly  unfortunate 
for  Morris.  Had  he  lingered  a  moment  longer  by 
the  window,  this  tale  need  never  have  been  written. 
For  he  might  then  have  observed  (as  the  porters  did 
not  fail  to  do)  the  arrival  of  a  second  passenger  in 
the  uniform  of  Sir  Faraday  Bond.  But  he  had  other 
matters  on  hand  which  he  judged  (God  knows  how 
erroneously)  to  be  more  important. 


24  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing,'  he  cried,  resuming 
a  discussion  which  had  scarcely  ceased  all  morning. 
*  The  bill  is  not  yours ;  it  is  mine.' 

*  It  is  payable  to  me,'  returned  the  old  gentleman, 
with  an  air  of  bitter  obstinacy.  *  I  will  do  what  I 
please  with  my  own  property.' 

The  bill  was  one  for  eight  hundred  pounds,  which 
had  been  given  him  at  breakfast  to  endorse,  and  which 
he  had  simply  pocketed. 

*  Hear  him,  Johnny ! '  cried  Morris.  *  His  pro- 
perty !  the  very  clothes  upon  his  back  belong  to  me.' 

*  Let  him  alone,'  said  John.  *  I  am  sick  of  both 
of  you.' 

'  That  is  no  way  to  speak  of  your  uncle,  sir,'  cried 
Joseph.  *I  will  not  endure  this  disrespect.  You 
are  a  pair  of  exceedingly  forward,  impudent,  and 
ignorant  young  men,  and  I  have  quite  made  up  my 
mind  to  put  an  end  to  the  whole  business.' 

'  Oh,  skittles ! '  said  the  graceful  John. 

But  Morris  was  not  so  easy  in  his  mind.  This 
unusual  act  of  insubordination  had  already  troubled 
him ;  and  these  mutinous  words  now  sounded  omi- 
nously in  his  ears.  He  looked  at  the  old  gentleman 
uneasily.  Upon  one  occasion  many  years  before, 
when  Joseph  was  delivering  a  lecture,  the  audience 
had   revolted  in  a  body;  finding   their   entertainer 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       25 

somewhat  dry,  they  had  taken  the  question  of  amuse- 
ment into  their  own  hands ;  and  the  lecturer  (along 
with  the  board  schoolmaster,  the  Baptist  clergyman, 
and  a  working-man's  candidate,  who  made  up  his 
bodyguard)  was  ultimately  driven  from  the  scene. 
Morris  had  nob  been  present  on  that  fatal  day ;  if  he 
had,  he  would  have  recognised  a  certain  fighting 
glitter  in  his  uncle's  eye,  and  a  certain  chewing  move- 
ment of  his  lips,  as  old  acquaintances.  But  even  to 
the  inexpert  these  symptoms  breathed  of  something 
dangerous. 

'  Well,  well,'  said  Morris.  ^  I  have  no  wish  to 
bother  you  further  till  we  get  to  London.' 

Joseph  did  not  so  much  as  look  at  him  in  answer ; 
with  tremulous  hands  he  produced  a  copy  of  the 
British  Mechanic,  and  ostentatiously  buried  himself  in 
its  perusal. 

'  I  wonder  what  can  make  him  so  cantankerous  ? 
reflected  the  nephew.     '  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it  at 
all.'     And  he  dubiously  scratched  his  nose. 

The  train  travelled  forth  into  the  world,  bearing 
along  with  it  the  customary  freight  of  obliterated 
voyagers,  and  along  with  these  old  Joseph,  affecting 
immersion  in  his  paper,  and  John,  slumbering  over 
the  columns  of  the  Pinh  Tin  and  Morris,  revolving 
in  his  mind  a  dozen  grudges,  and  suspicions,  and 


26  THE   WRONG  BOX 

alarms.  It  passed  Christ  Church  by  the  sea,  Heme 
with  its  pinewoods,  Ringwood  on  its  mazy  river.  A 
little  behind  time,  but  not  mucli  for  the  South- 
Western,  it  drew  up  at  the  platform  of  a  station,  in 
the  midst  of  the  New  Forest,  the  real  name  of  which 
(in  case  the  railway  company  '  might  have  the  law  of 
me ')  I  shall  veil  under  the  alias  of  Browndean. 

Many  passengers  put  their  heads  to  the  window, 
and  among  the  rest  an  old  gentleman  on  whom  I 
willingly  dwell,  for  I  am  nearly  done  with  him  now, 
and  (in  the  whole  course  of  the  present  narrative)  I 
am  not  in  the  least  likely  to  meet  another  character 
so  decent.  His  name  is  immaterial,  not  so  his 
habits.  He  had  passed  his  life  wandering  in  a  tweed 
suit  on  the  continent  of  Europe ;  and  years  of  Ga* 
lignani's  Messenger  having  at  length  undermined 
his  eyesight,  he  suddenly  remembered  the  rivers  of 
Assyria  and  came  to  London  to  consult  an  oculist. 
From  the  oculist  to  the  dentist,  and  from  both  to 
the  physician,  the  step  appears  inevitable  ;  presently 
he  was  in  the  hands  of  Sir  Faraday,  robed  in  venti- 
lating cloth  and  sent  to  Bournemouth ;  and  to  that 
domineering  baronet  (who  was  his  only  friend  upon 
his  native  soil)  he  was  now  returning  to  report. 
The  case  of  these  tweed-suited  wanderers  is  unique. 
We  have  all  seen  them  entering  the  table  d'hote  (at 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       27 

Spezzia,  or  Gratz,  or  Venice)  witli  a  genteel  melan- 
choly and  a  faint  appearance  of  having  been  to 
India  and  not  succeeded.  In  the  offices  of  many- 
hundred  hotels  they  are  known  by  name ;  and  yet, 
if  the  whole  of  this  wandering  cohort  were  to  dis- 
appear to-morrow,  their  absence  would  be  wholly 
unremarked.  How  much  more,  if  only  one — say 
this  one  in  the  ventilating  cloth — should  vanish! 
He  had  paid  his  bills  at  Bournemouth ;  his  worldly 
effects  were  all  in  the  van  in  two  portmanteaux,  and 
these  after  the  proper  interval  would  be  sold  as  un- 
claimed baggage  to  a  Jew ;  Sir  Faraday's  butler 
would  be  a  half-crown  poorer  at  the  year's  end,  and 
the  hotel-keepers  of  Europe  about  the  same  date 
would  be  mourning  a  small  but  quite  observable 
decline  in  profits.  And  that  would  be  literally  all. 
Perhaps  the  old  gentleman  thought  something  of 
the  sort,  for  he  looked  melancholy  enough  as  he 
pulled  his  bare,  grey  head  back  into  the  carriage, 
and  the  train  smoked  under  the  bridge,  and  forth, 
with  ever  quickening  speed,  across  the  mingled 
heaths  and  woods  of  the  New  Forest. 

Not  many  hundred  yards  beyond  Browndean, 
however,  a  sudden  jarring  of  brakes  set  everybody's 
teeth  on  edge,  and  there  was  a  brutal  stoppage. 
Morris  Finsbury  was  aware  of  a  confused  uproar  of 


•28  THE   WRONG  BOX 

voices,  and  sprang  to  the  window.  Women  were 
screaming,  men  were  tumbling  from  the  windows 
on  the  track,  the  guard  was  crying  to  them  to  stay- 
where  they  were ;  at  the  same  time  the  train  began 
to  gather  way  and  move  very  slowly  backward  to- 
ward Browndean ;  and  the  next  moment,  all  these 
various  sounds  were  blotted  out  in  the  apocalyptic 
whistle  and  the  thundering  onslaught  of  the  down 
express. 

The  actual  collision  Morris  did  not  hear.  Per- 
haps he  fainted.  He  had  a  wild  dream  of  having 
seen  the  carriage  double  up  and  fall  to  pieces  like  a 
pantomime  trick ;  and  sure  enough,  when  he  came 
to  himself,  he  was  lying  on  the  bare  earth  and  under 
the  open  sky.  His  head  ached  savagely  ;  he  carried 
his  hand  to  his  brow  and  was  not  surprised  to  see  it 
red  with  blood.  The  air  was  filled  with  an  in- 
tolerable, throbbing  roar,  which  he  expected  to  find 
die  away  with  the  return  of  consciousness ;  and 
instead  of  that  it  seemed  but  to  swell  the  louder  and 
to  pierce  the  more  cruelly  through  his  ears.  It  was 
a  raging,  bellowing  thunder,  like  a  boiler-riveting 
factory. 

And  now  curiosity  began  to  stir,  and  he  sat  up 
and  looked  about  him.  The  track  at  this  point  ran 
in  a  sharp  curve  about  a  wooded  hillock  ;  all  of  the 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       29 


near  side  was  heaped  with  the  wreckage  of  the 
Bournemouth  train ;  that  of  the  express  was  mostly- 
hidden  by  the  trees  ;  and  just  at  the  turn,  under 
clouds  of  vomiting  steam  and  piled  about  with  cairns 
of  living  coal,  lay  what  remained  of  the  two  engines, 
one  upon  the  other.  On  the  heathy  margin  of  the 
line  were  many  people  running  to  and  fro,  and  crying 
aloud  as  they  ran,  and  many  others  lying  motionless 
like  sleeping  tramps. 

Morris  suddenly  drew  an  inference.  ^  There  has 
been  an  accident!'  thought  he,  and  was  elated  at 
his  perspicacity.  Almost  at  the  same  time  his  eye 
lighted  on  John,  who  lay  close  by  as  white  as  paper. 
'  Poor  old  John  !  poor  old  cove  ! '  he  thought,  the 
schoolboy  expression  popping  forth  from  some  for- 
gotten treasury,  and  he  took  his  brother's  hand  in 
his  with  (Jiildish  tenderness.  It  was  perhaps  the 
touch  that  recalled  him ;  at  least  John  opened  his 
eyes,  sat  suddenly  up,  and  after  several  ineffectual 
movements  of  his  lips,  '  What's  the  row  ? '  said  he, 
in  a  phantom  voice. 

The  din  of  that  devil's  smithy  still  thundered  in 
their  ears.  ^  Let  us  get  away  from  that,'  Morris 
cried,  and  pointed  to  the  vomit  of  steam  that  still 
spouted  from  the  broken  engines.  And  the  pair 
helped  each  other  up,  and  stood  and  quaked  and 


30  THE    WRONG  BOX 

wavered  and  stared  about  them  at  the  scene  of 
death. 

Just  then  they  were  approached  by  a  party  of 
men  who  had  already  organised  themselves  for  the 
purposes  of  rescue. 

'Are  you  hurt?*  cried  one  of  these,  a  young 
fellow  with  the  sweat  streaming  down  his  pallid  face, 
and  who  by  the  way  he  was  treated  was  evidently 
the  doctor. 

Morris  shook  his  head,  and  the  young  man, 
nodding  grimly,  handed  him  a  bottle  of  some 
spirit. 

*  Take  a  drink  of  that,'  he  said ;  *  your  friend 
looks  as  if  he  needed  it  badly.  We  want  every  man 
we  can  get,'  he  added ;  '  there's  terrible  work  before 
us,  and  nobody  should  shirk.  If  you  can  do  no 
more  you  can  carry  a  stretcher/ 

The  doctor  was  hardly  gone  before  Morris,  under 
the  spur  of  the  dram,  awoke  to  the  full  possession  of 
his  wits. 

'  My  God ! '  he  cried.     '  Uncle  Joseph  !  * 

*  Yes,'  said  John,  *  where  can  he  be  ?  He  can't 
be  far  off.     I  hope  the  old  party  isn't  damaged.' 

*  Come  and  help  me  to  look,'  said  Morris,  with  a 
snap  of  savage  determination  strangely  foreign  to 
his  ordinary  bearing ;  and  then,  for  one  moment,  he 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION       31 

broke  forth.    ^  If  lie's  dead  ! '  he  cried,  and  shook  his 
fist  at  heaven. 

To  and  fro  the  brothers  hurried,  staring  in  the 
faces  of  the  wounded,  or  turning  the  dead  upon  their 
backs.  They  must  have  thus  examined  forty  people, 
and  still  there  was  no  word  of  Uncle  Joseph.  But 
now  the  course  of  their  search  brought  them  near 
the  centre  of  the  collision,  where  the  boilers  were 
still  blowing  off  steam  with  a  deafening  clamour. 
It  was  a  part  of  the  field  not  yet  gleaned  by  the 
rescuing  party.  The  ground,  especially  on  the 
margin  of  the  wood,  was  full  of  inequalities — here 
a  pit,  there  a  hillock  surmounted  with  a  bush  of 
furze.  It  was  a  place  where  many  bodies  might 
lie  concealed,  and  they  beat  it  like  pointers  after 
game.  Suddenly  Morris,  who  was  leading,  paused 
and  reached  forth  his  index  with  a  tragic  ges- 
ture. John  followed  the  direction  of  his  brother's 
hand. 

In  the  bottom  of  a  sandy  hole  lay  something  that 
had  once  been  human.  The  face  had  suffered  severely, 
and  it  was  unrecognisable ;  but  that  was  not  required. 
The  snowy  hair,  the  coat  of  marten,  the  ventilating 
cloth,  the  hygienic  flannel — everything  down  to  the 
health  boots  from  Messrs.  Dall  &  Crumbie's,  identified 
the  body  as  that  of  Uncle  Joseph.     Only  the  forage 


32  THE    WRONG  BOX 


cap  must  have  been  lost  in  the  convulsion,  for  the 
dead  man  was  bareheaded. 

*  The  poor  old  beggar  ! '  said  John,  with  a  touch 
of  natural  feeling ;  *  I  would  give  ten  pounds  if  we 
hadn't  chivied  him  in  the  train !  * 

But  there  was  no  sentiment  in  the  face  of  Morris 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  dead.  Gnawing  his  nails,  with 
introverted  eyes,  his  brow  marked  with  the  stamp  of 
tragic  indignation  and  tragic  intellectual  effort,  he 
stood  there  silent.  Here  was  a  last  injustice ;  he 
had  been  robbed  while  he  was  an  orphan  at  school, 
he  had  been  lashed  to  a  decadent  leather  business, 
he  had  been  saddled  with  Miss  Hazeltine,  his  cousin 
had  been  defrauding  him  of  the  tontine,  and  he  had 
borne  all  this,  we  might  almost  say,  with  dignity, 
and  now  they  had  gone  and  killed  his  uncle  ! 

*  Here ! '  he  said  suddenly,  ^  take  his  heels,  we 
must  get  him  into  the  woods.  I'm  not  going  to 
have  anybody  find  this.' 

*  Oh,  fudge  ! '  said  John,  *  where's  the  use  ?  ' 

'  Do  what  I  tell  you,'  spirted  Morris,  as  he  took 
the  corpse  by  the  shoulders.  '  Am  I  to  carry  him 
myself?' 

They  were  close  upon  the  borders  of  the  wood ; 
in  ten  or  twelve  paces  they  were  under  cover ;  and  a 
little  farther  back,  in  a  sandy  clearing  of  the  trees, 


IN   WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION        -^.-i, 

they  laid  their  burthen  down,  and  stood  and  looked 
at  it  with  loathing. 

'  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  '  whispered  John. 

'  Bury  him,  to  be  sure ! '  responded  Morris,  and 
he  opened  his  pocket-knife  and  began  feverishly  to 
dig. 

'  You'll  never  make  a  hand  of  it  with  that,'  ob- 
jected the  other. 

^  If  you  won't  help  me,  you  cowardly  shirk,' 
screamed  Morris,  '  you  can  go  to  the  devil ! ' 

'  It's  the  childishest  folly,'  said  John ;  '  but  no  man 
shall  call  me  a  coward,'  and  he  began  to  help  his 
brother  grudgingly. 

The  soil  was  sandy  and  light,  but  matted  with 
the  roots  of  the  surrounding  firs.  Gorse  tore  their 
hands  ;  and  as  they  baled  the  sand  from  the  grave, 
it  was  often  discoloured  with  their  blood.  An  hour 
passed  of  unremitting  energy  upon  the  part  of 
Morris,  of  lukewarm  help  on  that  of  John ;  and  still 
the  trench  was  barely  nine  inches  in  depth.  Into  this 
the  body  was  rudely  flung ;  sand  was  piled  upon  it, 
and  then  more  sand  must  be  dug,  and  gorse  had  to 
be  cut  to  pile  on  that ;  and  still  from  one  end  of  the 
sordid  mound  a  pair  of  feet  projected  and  caught  the 
light  upon  their  patent-leather  toes.  But  by  this 
time  the  nerves  of  both  were  shaken  \  even  Morris 

D 


34  THE   WRONG  BOX 

had  enough  of  his  grisly  task ;  and  they  skulked  off 
like  animals  into  the  thickest  of  the  neighbouring 
covert. 

*  It's  the  best  that  we  can  do/  said  Morris,  sitting 
down. 

'  And  now,'  said  John,  '  perhaps  you'll  have  the 
politeness  to  tell  me  what  it's  all  about.' 

*  Upon  my  word,'  cried  Morris,  *  if  you  do  not 
understand  for  yourself,  I  almost  despair  of  telling 
you.' 

*  Oh,  of  course  it's  some  rot  about  the  tontine,' 
returned  the  other.  *  But  it's  the  merest  nonsense. 
We've  lost  it,  and  there's  an  end.' 

*  I  tell  you,'  said  Morris,  *  Uncle  Masterman  is 
dead.     I  know  it,  there's  a  voice  here  that  tells  me 

80.' 

*  Well,  and  so  is  Uncle  Joseph,'  said  John. 

*  He's  not  dead  unless  I  choose,'  returned  Morris. 

*  And  come  to  that,'  cried  John,  *  if  you're  right, 
and  Uncle  Masterman's  been  dead  ever  so  long,  all 
we  have  to  do  is  to  tell  the  truth  and  expose 
Michael.' 

'  You  seem  to  think  Michael  is  a  fool,'  sneered 
Morris.  '  Can't  you  understand  he's  been  preparing 
this  fraud  for  years  ?  He  has  the  whole  thing  ready : 
the  nurse,  the  doctor,  the  undertaker,  all  bought,  the 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       35 

certificate  all  ready  but  the  date !  Let  him  get  wind 
of  this  business,  and  you  mark  my  words,  Uncle 
Masterman  will  die  in  two  days  and  be  buried  in  a 
week.  But  see  here,  Johnny ;  what  Michael  can  do, 
I  can  do.  If  he  plays  a  game  of  bluff,  so.  can  I.  If 
his  father  is  to  live  for  ever,  by  God,  so  shall  my 
uncle ! ' 

'  It's  illegal,  ain't  it  ?  '  said  John. 

'  A  man  must  have  some  moral  courage,'  replied 
Morris  with  dignity. 

'  And  then  suppose  you're  wrong  ?  Suppose  Uncle 
Masterman's  alive  and  kicking  ?  ' 

'  Well,  even  then,'  responded  the  plotter,  '  we  are 
no  worse  than  we  were  before ;  in  fact,  we're  better. 
Uncle  Masterman  must  die  some  day;  as  long  as 
Uncle  Joseph  was  alive,  he  might  have  died  any 
day ;  but  we're  out  of  all  that  trouble  now :  there's 
no  sort  of  limit  to  the  game  that  I  propose — it  can 
be  kept  up  till  Kingdom  Come.' 

'  If  I  could  only  see  how  you  meant  to  set  about 
it ! '  sighed  John.  '  But  you  know,  Morris,  you 
always  were  such  a  bungler/ 

'  I'd  like  to  know  what  I  ever  bungled,'  cried 
Morris ;  '  I  have  the  best  collection  of  signet  rings  in 
London.' 

'Well,  you  know,  there's  the  leather  business,' 

d2 


36  THE    WRONG  BOX 

suggested  the  other.     *  That's   considered  rather  a 
hash/ 

It  was  a  mark  of  singular  self-control  in  Morris 
that  he  suffered  this  to  pass  unchallenged  and  even 
unresented. 

*  About  the  business  in  hand,'  said  he,  '  once  we 
can  get  him  up  to  Bloomsbury,  there's  no  sort  of 
trouble.  We  bury  him  in  the  cellar,  which  seems 
made  for  it;  and  then  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  start  out 
and  find  a  venal  doctor.* 

*  Why  can't  we  leave  him  where  he  is?'  asked 
John. 

*  Because  we  know  nothing  about  the  country,' 
retorted  Morris.  '  This  wood  may  be  a  regular  lovers' 
walk.  Turn  your  mind  to  the  real  difficulty.  How 
are  we  to  get  him  up  to  Bloomsbury.' 

Various  schemes  were  mooted  and  rejected.  The 
railway  station  at  Browndean  was  of  course  out  of 
the  question,  for  it  would  now  be  a  centre  of  curi- 
osity and  gossip,  and  (of  all  things)  they  would  be 
least  able  to  despatch  a  dead  body  without  remark. 
John  feebly  proposed  getting  an  ale-cask  and  send- 
ing it  as  beer,  but  the  objections  to  this  course  were 
so  overwhelming  that  Morris  scorned  to  answer.  The 
purchase  of  a  packing-case  seemed  equally  hopeless, 
for  why  should  two  gentlemen  without  baggage  of 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION       y] 

any  kind  require  a  packing-case?     They  would  be 
more  likely  to  require  clean  linen. 

'  We  are  working  on  wrong  lines,'  cried  Morris  at 
last.  '  The  thing  must  be  gone  about  more  care- 
fully. Suppose  now,'  he  added  excitedly,  speaking 
by  fits  and  starts  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud,  '  sup- 
pose we  rent  a  cottage  by  the  month.  A  householder 
can  buy  a  packing-case  without  remark.  Then  sup- 
pose we  clear  the  people  out  to-day,  get  the  packing- 
case  to-night,  and  to-morrow  I  hire  a  carriage — or  a 
cart  that  we  could  drive  ourselves — and  take  the 
box,  or  whatever  we  get,  to  Eingwood  or  Lyndhurst 
or  somewhere ;  we  could  label  it  "  specimens,"  don't 
you  see  ?  Johnny,  I  believe  I've  hit  the  nail  at 
last.' 

^  Well,  it  sounds  more  feasible,'  admitted  John. 

'  Of  course  we  must  take  assumed  names,'  con- 
tinued Morris.  ^It  would  never  do  to  keep  our 
own.  What  do  you  say  to  "  Masterman  "  itself  ?  It 
sounds  quiet  and  dignified.' 

'  I  will  not  take  the  name  of  Masterman,'  returned 
his  brother  ;  '  you  may,  if  you  like.  I  shall  call  my- 
self Vance — the  Great  Vance  ;  positively  the  last  six 
nights.     There's  some  go  in  a  name  like  that.' 

'  Vance ! '  cried  Morris.  '  Do  you  think  we  are 
playing  a  pantomime  for  our  amusement?     There 


38  THE   WRONG  BOX 

was  never  anybody  named  Vance  who  wasn't  a  music- 
hall  singer.' 

*  That's  the  beauty  of  it,'  returned  John  ;  '  it  gives 
you  some  standing  at  once.  You  may  call  yourself 
Fortescue  till  all's  blue,  and  nobody  cares ;  but  to  be 
Vance  gives  a  man  a  natural  nobility.' 

*  But  there's  lots  of  other  theatrical  names,'  cried 
Morris.     *  Ley  bourne,  Irving,  Brough,  Toole ' 

*  Devil  a  one  will  I  take ! '  returned  his  brother. 
*  I  am  going  to  have  my  little  lark  out  of  this  as  well 
as  you.' 

*  Very  well,*  said  Morris,  who  perceived  that  John 
was  determined  to  carry  his  point,  *  I  shall  be  Robert 
Vance.* 

*  And  I  shall  be  George  Vance,*  cried  John,  '  the 
only  original  George  Vance  !  Rally  round  the  only 
original ! ' 

Repairing  as  well  as  they  were  able  the  disorder 
of  their  clothes,  Finsbury  brothers  returned  to  Brown- 
dean  by  a  circuitous  route  in  quest  of  luncheon  and 
a  suitable  cottage.  It  is  not  always  easy  to  drop  at 
a  moment's  notice  on  a  furnished  residence  in  a  re- 
tired locality ;  but  fortune  presently  introduced  our 
adventurers  to  a  deaf  carpenter,  a  man  rich  in  cot- 
tages of  the  required  description,  and  unaffectedly 
ieager  to  supply  their  wants.     The  second  place  they 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       39 

visited,  standing,  as  it  did,  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  any  neighbours,  caused  them  to  exchange  a 
glance  of  hope.  On  a  nearer  view,  the  place  was 
not  without  depressing  features.  It  stood  in  a 
marshy-looking  hollow  of  a  heath;  tall  trees  ob- 
scured its  windows  ;  the  thatch  visibly  rotted  on  the 
rafters  ;  and  the  walls  were  stained  with  splashes  of 
unwholesome  green.  The  rooms  were  small,  the 
ceilings  low,  the  furniture  merely  nominal ;  a  strange 
chill  and  a  haunting  smell  of  damp  pervaded  the 
kitchen ;  and  the  bedroom  boasted  only  of  one  bed. 

Morris,  with  a  view  to  cheapening  the  place,  re- 
marked on  this  defect. 

^  Well,'  returned  the  man,  '  if  you  can't  sleep  two 
abed,  you'd  better  take  a  villa  residence.' 

'  And  then,'  pursued  Morris,  '  there's  no  water. 
How  do  you  get  your  water  ?  '  ^ 

'  We  fill  tliai  from  the  spring,'  replied  the  car- 
penter, pointing  to  a  big  barrel  that  stood  beside  the 
door.  '  The  spring  ain't  so  verxj  far  off,  after  all,  and 
it's  easy  brought  in  buckets.  There's  a  bucket 
there.' 

Morris  nudged  his  brother  as  they  examined  the 
waterbutt.  It  was  new,  and  very  solidly  constructed 
for  its  office.  If  anything  had  been  wanting  to  decide 
them,  this  eminently  practicable  barrel  would  have 


4o  THE   WRONG  BOX 

turned  the  scale.  A  bargain  was  promptly  struck, 
the  month's  rent  was  paid  upon  the  nail,  and  about 
an  hour  later  Finsbury  brothers  might  have  been 
observed  returning  to  the  blighted  cottage,  having 
along  with  them  the  key,  which  was  the  symbol  of 
their  tenancy,  a  spirit  lamp,  with  which  they  fondly 
told  themselves  they  would  be  able  to  cook,  a  pork 
pie  of  suitable  dimensions,  and  a  quart  of  the  worst 
whiskey  in  Hampshire.  Nor  was  this  all  they  had 
effected ;  already  (under  the  plea  that  they  were 
landscape  painters)  they  had  hire4  for  dawn  on  the 
morrow  a  light  but  solid  two-wheeled  cart ;  so  that 
when  they  entered  in  their  new  character,  they  were 
able  to  tell  themselves  that  the  back  of  the  business 
was  already  broken. 

John  proceeded  to  get  tea ;  while  Morris,  foraging 
about  the  house,  was  presently  delighted  by  dis-  . 
covering  the  lid  of  the  water-butt  upon  the  kitchen 
shelf.  Here,  then,  was  the  packing-case  complete ; 
in  the  absence  of  straw,  the  blankets  (which  he  him- 
self, at  least,  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of  using 
for  their  present  purpose)  would  exactly  take  the 
place  of  packing ;  and  Morris,  as  the  difficulties 
began  to  vanish  from  his  path,  rose  almost  to  the 
brink  of  exultation.  There  was,  however,  one 
difficulty  not  yet  faced,  one  upon  which  his  whole 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION        41 

scheme  depended.  Would  Jolin  consent  to  remain 
alone  in  tlie  cottage  ?  He  had  not  yet  dared  to  put 
the  question. 

It  was  with  high  good  humour  that  the  pair  sat 
down  to  the  deal  table,  and  proceeded  to  fall  to  on 
the  pork-pie.  Morris  retailed  the  discovery  of  the 
lid,  and  the  Great  Vance  was  pleased  to  applaud 
by  beating  on  the  table  with  his  fork  in  true  music- 
hall  style. 

'  That's  the  dodge,'  he  cried.  '  I  always  said  a 
waterbutt  was  what  you  wanted  for  this  business.' 

'  Of  course,'  said  Morris,  thinking  this  a  favourable 
opportunity  to  prepare  his  brother,  '  of  course  you 
must  stay  on  in  this  place  till  I  give  the  word ;  I'll 
give  out  that  uncle  is  resting  in  the  New  Forest. 
It  would  not  do  for  both  of  us  to  appear  in  London ; 
we  could  never  conceal  the  absence  of  the  old  man.' 

John's  jaw  dropped. 

'  Oh,  come ! '  he  cried.  '  You  can  stay  in  this 
hole  yourself.     I  won't.' 

The  colour  came  into  Morris's  cheeks.  He  saw 
that  he  must  win  his  brother  at  any  cost. 

^  You  must  please  remember,  Johnny,'  he  said, 
*  the  amount  of  the  tontine.  If  I  succeed,  we  shall 
have  each  fifty  thousand  to  place  to  our  bank 
account ;  ay,  and  nearer  sixty.'  t 


42  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  But  if  you  fail/  returned  John,  '  what  then  ? 
What'll  be  the  colour  of  our  bank  account  in  that 
case?' 

'  I  will  pay  all  expenses,'  said  Morris,  with  an 
inward  struggle  ;  *  you  shall  lose  nothing/ 

*  Well,'  said  John,  with  a  laugh,  '  if  the  ex-s  are 
yours,  and  half  profits  mine,  I  don't  mind  remaining 
here  for  a  couple  df  days.' 

*  A  couple  of  days ! '  cried  Morris,  who  was  be- 
ginning to  get  angry  and  controlled  himself  with 
difficulty ;  *  why,  you  would  do  more  to  win  five 
pounds  on  a  horse  race  ! ' 

*  Perhaps  I  would,'  returned  the  Great  Vance ; 

*  it's  the  artistic  temperament.* 

*  This  is  monstrous ! '  burst  out  Morris.  '  I 
take  all  risks ;  I  pay  all  expenses ;  I  divide  profits  ; 
and  you  won't  take  the  slightest  pains  to  help  me. 
It's  not  decent;  it's  not  honest;  it's  not  even 
kind.' 

*  But  suppose,'  objected  John,  who  was  con- 
siderably impressed   by  his    brother's    vehemence, 

*  suppose  that  Uncle  Masterman  is  alive  after  all, 
and  lives  ten  years  longer ;  must  I  rot  here  all  that 
time?' 

'Of  course  not,'  responded  Morris,  in  a  more 
conciliatory  tone ;  ^  I  only  ask  a  month  at  the  out- 


I 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION       43 

side ;  and  if  Uncle  Masterman  is  not  dead  by  that 
time  you  can  go  abroad.' 

'  Go  abroad  ?  '  repeated  John,  eagerly.  '  Why 
shouldn't  I  go  at  once  ?  Tell  'em  that  Joseph  and  I 
are  seeing  life  in  Paris.' 

'  Nonsense,'  said  Morris. 

'  Well,  but  look  here,'  said  John ;  '  it's  this  house, 
it's  such  a  pig-sty,  it's  so  dreary  and  damp.  You 
said  yourself  that  it  was  damp.' 

*  Only  to  the  carpenter,'  Morris  distinguished, 
'  and  that  was  to  reduce  the  rent.  But  really,  you 
know,  now  we're  in  it,  I've  seen  worse.' 

'  And  what  am  I  to  do  ? '  complained  the  victim. 
'  How  can  I  entertain  a  friend  ?  ' 

^  My  dear  Johnny,  if  you  don't  think  the  tontine 
worth  a  little  trouble,  say  so,  and  I'll  give  the  busi- 
ness up.' 

'  You're  dead  certain  of  the  figures,  I  suppose  ?  ' 
asked  John.  '  Well ' — with  a  deep  sigh — '  send  me 
the  Fiiik  Tin  and  all  the  comic  papers  regularly.  I'll 
face  the  music' 

As  afternoon  drew  on,  the  cottage  breathed  more 
thrillingly  of  its  native  marsh ;  a  creeping  chill  in- 
habited its  chambers  ;  the  fire  smoked,  and  a  shower 
of  rain,  coming  up  from  the  channel  on  a  slant  of 
wind,  tingled  on  the  window-panes.     At  intervals, 


44  THE    WRONG  BOX 

v/hen  the  gloom  deepened  toward  despair,  Morris 
would  produce  the  whiskey  bottle,  and  at  first  John 
welcomed  the  diversion — not  for  long.  It  has  been 
said  this  spirit  was  the  worst  in  Hampshire ;  only 
those  acquainted  with  the  county  can  appreciate  the 
force  of  that  superlative;  and  at  length  even  the 
Great  Yance  (who  was  no  connoisseur)  waved  the 
decoction  from  his  lips.  The  approach  of  dusk,  feebly 
combated  wuth  a  single  tallow  candle,  added  a  touch 
of  tragedy ;  and  John  suddenly  stopped  whistling 
through  his  fingers — an  art  to  the  practice  of  which 
he  had  been  reduced — and  bitterly  lamented  his 
concessions. 

'  I  can't  stay  here  a  month,'  he  cried.  *  No  one 
could.  The  thing's  nonsense,  Morris.  The  parties 
that  lived  in  the  Bastille  would  rise  against  a  place 
like  this.' 

With  an  admirable  affectation  of  indifference, 
Morris  proposed  a  game  of  pitch-and-toss.  To  what 
will  not  the  diplomatist  condescend  !  It  was  John's 
favourite  game;  indeed  his  only  game — he  had  found 
all  the  rest  too  intellectual — and  he  played  it  with 
equal  skill  and  good  fortune.  To  Morris  himself,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  whole  business  was  detestable  ; 
he  was  a  bad  pitcher,  he  had  no  luck  in  tossing,  and 
he  was  one  who  suffered  torments  when  he  lost.   But 


IN   WHICH  MORRIS   TAKES  ACTION      45 

Jolin  was  in  a  dangerous  liumour,  and  his  brother 
was  prepared  for  any  sacrifice. 

By  seven  o'clock,  Morris,  with  incredible  agony, 
had  lost  a  couple  of  half-crowns.  Even  with  the 
tontine  before  his  eyes,  this  was  as  much  as  he  could 
bear ;  and,  remarking  that  he  would  take  his  revenge 
some  other  time,  he  proposed  a  bit  of  supper  and  a 
grog. 

Before  they  had  made  an  end  of  this  refreshment, 
it  was  time  to  be  at  work.  A  bucket  of  water  for 
present  necessities  was  withdrawn  from  the  water- 
butt,  which  was  then  emptied  and  rolled  before  the 
kitchen  fire  to  dry ;  and  the  two  brothers  set  forth 
on  their  adventure  under  a  starless  heaven. 


46  THE   WRONG  BOX 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   LECTURER  AT  LARGE. 

Whether  mankind  is  really  partial  to  happiness  is 
an  open  question.  Not  a  month  passes  by  but  some 
cherished  son  runs  oflf  into  the  merchant  service,  or 
some  valued  husband  decamps  to  Texas  with  a  lady 
help ;  clergymen  have  fled  from  their  parishioners ; 
and  even  judges  have  been  known  to  retire.  To  an 
open  mind,  it  will  appear  (upon  the  whole)  less 
strange  that  Joseph  Finsbury  should  have  been  led 
to  entertain  ideas  of  escape.  His  lot  (I  think  we  may 
say)  was  not  a  happy  one.  My  friend,  Mr.  Morris, 
with  whom  I  travel  up  twice  or  thrice  a  week  from 
Snaresbrook  Park,  is  certainly  a  gentleman  whom  I 
esteem  ;  but  he  was  scarce  a  model  nephew.  As  for 
John,  he  is  of  course  an  excellent  fellow  ;  but  if  he 
was  the  only  link  that  bound  one  to  a  home,  I  think 
the  most  of  us  would  vote  for  foreign  travel.  In  the 
case  of  Joseph,  John  (if  he  were  a  link  at  all)  was 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  47 

not  the  only  one ;  endearing  bonds  had  long  en- 
chained the  old  gentleman  to  Bloomsbury ;  and  by 
these  expressions  I  do  not  in  the  least  refer  to  Julia 
Hazeltine  (of  whom,  however,  he  was  fond  enough), 
but  to  that  collection  of  manuscript  note-books  in 
which  his  life  lay  buried.  That  he  should  ever  have 
made  up  his  mind  to  separate  himself  from  these  col- 
lections, and  go  forth  upon  the  world  with  no  other 
resources  than  his  memory  supplied,  is  a  circum- 
stance highly  pathetic  in  itself,  and  but  little  credit- 
able to  the  wisdom  of  his  nephews. 

The  design,  or  at  least  the  temptation,  was 
already  some  months  old  ;  and  when  a  bill  for  eight 
hundred  pounds,  payable  to  himself,  was  suddenly 
placed  in  Joseph's  hand,  it  brought  matters  to  an 
issue.  He  retained  that  bill,  which,  to  one  of  his 
frugality,  meant  wealth ;  and  he  promised  himself  to 
disappear  among  the  crowds  at  Waterloo,  or  (if  that 
should  prove  impossible)  to  slink  out  of  the  house  in 
the  course  of  the  evening  and  melt  like  a  dream  into 
the  millions  of  London.  By  a  peculiar  interposition 
of  providence  and  railway  mismanagement  he  had 
not  so  long  to  wait. 

He  was  one  of  the  first  to  come  to  himself  and 
scramble  to  his  feet,  after  the  Browndean  catastrophe, 
and  he  had  no  sooner  remarked  his  prostrate  nephews, 


48  THE    WRONG  BOX 

than  he  understood  his  opportunity  and  fled.  A  man 
of  upward  of  seventy,  who  has  just  met  with  a  rail- 
way accident,  and  who  is  cumbered  besides  with 
the  full  uniform  of  Sir  Faraday  Bond,  is  not  very 
likely  to  flee  far,  but  the  wood  was  close  at  hand  and 
offered  the  fugitive  at  least  a  temporary  covert. 
Hither,  then,  the  old  gentleman  skipped  with  extra- 
ordinary expedition,  and,  being  somewhat  winded  and 
a  good  deal  shaken,  here  he  lay  down  in  a  convenient 
grove  and  was  presently  overwhelmed  by  slumber. 
The  way  of  fate  is  often  highly  entertaining  to  the 
looker-on,  and  it  is  certainly  a  pleasant  circum- 
stance, that  while  Morris  and  John  were  delving 
in  the  sand  to  conceal  the  body  of  a  total  stranger, 
their  uncle  lay  in  dreamless  sleep  a  few  hundred 
yards  deeper  in  the  wood. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  jolly  note  of  a  bugle 
from  the  neighbouring  high  road,  where  a  char-a-banc 
was  bowling  by  with  some  belated  tourists.  The 
sound  cheered  his  old  heart,  it  directed  his  steps  into 
the  bargain,  and  soon  he  was  on  the  highway,  look- 
ing east  and  west  from  under  his  vizor,  and  doubt- 
fully revolving  what  he  ought  to  do.  A  deliberate 
sound  of  wheels  arose  in  the  distance,  and  then  a 
cart  was  seen  approaching,  well  filled  with  parcels, 
driven  by  a  good-natured  looking  man  on  a  double 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  49 

bencli,  and  displaying  on  a  board  the  legend,  '  I. 
Chandler,  carrier.'  In  the  infamously  prosaic  mind 
of  Mr.  Finsbury,  certain  streaks  of  poetrj^  survived 
and  were  still  efficient ;  they  had  carried  him  to 
Asia  Minor  as  a  giddy  youth  of  forty,  and  now,  in 
the  first  hours  of  his  recovered  freedom,  they  sug- 
gested to  him  the  idea  of  continuing  his  flight  in 
Mr.  Chandler's  cart.  It  would  be  cheap ;  properly 
broached,  it  might  even  cost  nothing,  and,  after  years 
of  mittens  and  hygienic  flannel,  his  heart  leaped  out 
to  meet  the  notion  of  exposure. 

Mr.  Chandler  was  perhaps  a  little  puzzled  to  find 
so  old  a  gentleman,  so  strangely  clothed,  and  begging 
for  a  lift  on  so  retired  a  roadside.  But  he  was  a 
good-natured  man,  glad  to  do  a  service,  and  so  he 
took  the  stranger  up ;  and  he  had  his  own  idea  of 
civility,  and  so  he  asked  no  questions.  Silence, 
in  fact,  was  quite  good  enough  for  Mr.  Chandler; 
but  the  cart  had  scarcely  begun  to  move  forward  ere 
he  found  himself  involved  in  a  one-sided  conver- 
sation. 

'  I  can  see/  began  Mr.  Finsbury,  '  by  the  mixture 
of  parcels  and  boxes  that  are  contained  in  your  cart, 
each  marked  with  its  individual  label,  and  by  the 
good  Flemish  mare  you  drive,  that  you  occupy  the- 
post  of  carrier  in  that  great  English  system  of  trans- 

£ 


so  THE    WRONG  BOX 

port,  which,  with  all  its  defects,  is  the  pride  of  our 
country/ 

'  Yes,  sir,'  returned  Mr.  Chandler  vaguely,  for  he 
hardly  knew  what  to  reply ;  *  them  parcels  posts  has 
done  us  carriers  a  world  of  harm.' 

*  I  am  not  a  prejudiced  man,'  continued  Joseph 
Finsbury.  *As  a  young  man  I  travelled  much. 
Nothing  was  too  small  or  too  obscure  for  me  to 
acquire.  At  sea  I  studied  seamanship,  learned  the 
complicated  knots  employed  by  mariners,  and  ac- 
quired the  technical  terms.  At  Naples,  I  would 
learn  the  art  of  making  macaroni;  at  Nice,  the 
principles  of  making  candied  fruit.  I  never  went  to 
the  opera  without  first  buying  the  book  of  the  piece, 
and  making  myself  acquainted  with  the  principal  airs 
by  picking  them  out  on  the  piano  with  one  finger.' 

*  You  must  have  seen  a  deal,  sir,'  remarked  the 
carrier,  touching  up  his  horse ;  '  I  wish  I  could  have 
had  your  advantages.' 

*  Do  you  know  how  often  the  word  whip  occurs 
in  the  Old  Testament  ? '  continued  the  old  gentleman. 
*  One  hundred  and  (if  I  remember  exactly)  forty-seven 
times.' 

*  Do  it  indeed,  sir  ? '  said  Mr.  Chandler.  '  I  never 
should  have  thought  it.' 

*  The  Bible  contains  three  million  five  hundred 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE 


and  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-nine  letters. 
Of  verses  I  believe  there  are  upward  of  eighteen 
thousand.  There  have  been  many  editions  of  the 
Bible;  Wiclif  was  the  first  to  introduce  it  into 
England,  about  the  year  1300.  The  "Paragraph 
Bible,"  as  it  is  called,  is  a  well-known  edition,  and  is 
so  called  because  it  is  divided  into  paragraphs.  The 
"Breeches  Bible"  is  another  well-known  instance, 
and  gets  its  name  either  because  it  was  printed  by 
one  Breeches,  or  because  the  place  of  publication 
bore  that  name.' 

The  carrier  remarked  drily  that  he  thought  that 
was  only  natural,  and  turned  his  attention  to  the 
more  congenial  task  of  passing  a  cart  of  hay ;  it  was 
a  matter  of  some  difficulty,  for  the  road  was  narrow, 
and  there  was  a  ditch  on  either  hand. 

'  I  perceive,'  began  Mr.  Finsbury,  when  they  had 
successfully  passed  the  cart,  'that  you  hold  your 
reins  with  one  hand;  you  should  employ  two.' 

'  Well,  I  like  that ! '  cried  the  carrier  contemptu- 
ously.    'Why?' 

'  You  do  not  understand,'  continued  Mr.  Finsbury^ 
'  What  I  tell  you  is  a  scientific  fact,  and  reposes  on 
the  theory  of  the  lever,  a  branch  of  mechanics. 
There  are  some  very  interesting  little  shilling  books 
upon  the  field  of  study,  which  I  should  think  a  man 

S3 


52  THE    WRONG  BOX 

in  your  station  would  take  a  pleasure  to  read.  But 
I  am  afraid  you  have  not  cultivated  the  art  of  obser- 
vation ;  at  least  we  have  now  driven  together  for 
some  time,  and  I  cannot  remember  that  you  have 
contributed  a  single  fact.  This  is  a  very  false  prin- 
ciple, my  good  man.  For  instance,  I  do  not  know  if 
you  observed  that  (as  you  passed  the  hay-cart  man) 
you  took  your  left  ? ' 

*  Of  course  I  did,'  cried  the  carrier,  who  was  now 
getting  belligerent ;  '  he'd  have  the  law  on  me  if  I 
hadn't.' 

*In  France,  now,'  resumed  the  old  man,  *and 
also,  I  believe,  in  the  United  States  of  America,  you 
would  have  taken  the  right.' 

'I  would  not,'  cried  Mr.  Chandler  indignantly* 
*  I  would  have  taken  the  left.* 

*  I  observe,'  again  continued  Mr.  Finsbury,  scorn- 
ing to  reply,  *  that  you  mend  the  dilapidated  parts  of 
your  harness  with  string.  I  have  always  protested 
against  this  carelessness  and  slovenliness  of  the 
English  poor.  In  an  essay  that  I  once  read  before 
an  appreciative  audience ' 

'It  ain't  string,'  said  the  carrier  sullenly,  ^it's 
packthread.' 

'  I  have  always  protested,'  resumed  the  old  man, 
'  that  in  their  private  and  domestic  life,  as  well  as 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  53 

in  their  labouring  career,  tlie  lower  classes  of  this 
country  are  improvident,  thriftless,  and  extravagant. 
A  stitch  in  time ' 

'  Who  the  devil  are  the  lower  classes  ?  '  cried  the 
carrier.  '  You  are  the  lower  classes  yourself !  If  I 
thought  you  were  a  blooming*  aristocrat,  I  shouldn't 
have  given  you  a  lift.' 

The  words  were  uttered  with  undisguised  ill- 
feeling  ;  it  was  plain  the  pair  were  not  congenial, 
and  further  conversation,  even  to  one  of  Mr.  Fins- 
bury 's  pathetic  loquacity,  was  out  of  the  question. 
With  an  angry  gesture  he  pulled  down  the  brim  of 
the  forage-cap  over  his  eyes,  and,  producing  a  note- 
book and  a  blue  pencil  from  one  of  his  innermost 
pockets,  soon  became  absorbed  in  calculations. 

On  his  part  the  carrier  fell  to  whistling  with 
fresh  zest ;  and  if  (now  and  again)  he  glanced  at  the 
companion  of  his  drive,  it  was  with  mingled  feelings 
of  triumph  and  alarm — triumph  because  he  had 
succeeded  in  arresting  that  prodigy  of  speech,  and 
alarm  lest  (by  any  accident)  it  should  begin  again. 
Even  the  shower,  which  presently  overtook  and 
passed  them,  was  endured  by  both  in  silence ;  and 
it  was  still  in  silence  that  they  drove  at  length  into 
Southampton. 

Dusk  had  fallen ;  the  shop  windows  glimmerecl 


54  THE    WRONG  BOX 

forth  into  the  streets  of  the  old  seaport ;  in  private 
houses  lights  were  kindled  for  the  evening  meal  ; 
and  Mr.  Finsbury  began  to  think  complacently  of 
his  night's  lodging.  He  put  his  papers  by,  cleared 
his  throat,  and  looked  doubtfully  at  Mr.  Chandler. 

*  Will  you  be  civif  enough,'  said  he,  '  to  recom- 
mend me  to  an  inn  ?  ' 

Mr,  Chandler  pondered  for  a  moment. 

'  Well,'  he  said  at  last,  ^  I  wonder  how  about  the 
*'  Tregonwell  Arms."  * 

*The  ''Tregonwell  Arms"  will  do  very  well,' 
returned  the  old  man,  '  if  it's  clean  and  cheap,  and 
the  people  civil.' 

'  I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  you,'  returned 
Mr.  Chandler  thoughtfully.  '  I  was  thinking  of  my 
friend  Watts  as  keeps  the  'ouse ;  he's  a  friend  of 
mine,  you  see,  and  he  helped  me  through  my  trouble 
last  year.  And  I  was  thinking,  would  it  be  fair-like 
on  Watts  to  saddle  him  with  an  old  party  like  you, 
who  might  be  the  death  of  him  with  general  infor- 
mation. Would  it  be  fair  to  the  'ouse  ? '  inquired 
Mr.  Chandler,  with  an  air  of  candid  appeal. 

*  Mark  me,'  cried  the  old  gentleman  with  spirit. 
'  It  was  kind  in  you  to  bring  me  here  for  nothing, 
but  it  gives  you  no  right  to  address  me  in  such 
terms.     Here's  a  shilling  for  your  trouble ;  and,  if 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  55 

you  do  not  choose  to  set  me  down  at  the  ''  Tregon- 
well  Arms,"  I  can  find  it  for  myself.' 

Chandler  was  surprised  and  a  little  startled ; 
muttering  something  apologetic,  he  returned  the 
shilling,  drove  in  silence  through  several  intricate 
lanes  and  small  streets,  drew  up  at  length  before  the 
bright  windows  of  an  inn,  and  called  loudly  for 
'  Mr.  Watts.' 

'  Is  that  you,  Jem  ? '  cried  a  hearty  voice  from 
the  stableyard.     *  Come  in  and  warm  yourself.' 

'  I  only  stopped  here,'  Mr.  Chandler  explained, 
*  to  let  down  an  old  gent  what  wants  food  and 
lodging.  Mind,  I  warn  you  agin  him  ;  he's  worse 
nor  a  temperance  lecturer.' 

Mr.  Finsbury  dismounted  with  difficulty,  for  he 
was  cramped  with  his  long  drive,  and  the  shaking 
he  had  received  in  the  accident.  The  friendly  Mr. 
Watts,  in  spite  of  the  carter's  scarcely  agreeable 
introduction,  treated  the  old  gentleman  with  the 
utmost  courtesy,  and  led  him  into  the  back  parlour, 
where  there  was  a  big  fire  burning  in  the  grate. 
Presently  a  table  was  spread  in  the  same  room,  and 
he  was  invited  to  seat  himself  before  a  stewed  fowl 
— somewhat  the  worse  for  having  seen  service  before 
— and  a  big  pewter  mug  of  ale  from  the  tap. 

He  rose  from   supper   a   giant   refreshed ;    and, 


56  THE   WRONG  BOX 


changing  his  seat  to  one  nearer  the  fire,  began  to 
examine  the  other  guests  with  an  eye  to  the  delights 
of  oratory.  There  were  near  a  dozen  present,  all 
men,  and  (as  Joseph  exulted  to  perceive)  all  work- 
ing men.  Often  already  had  he  seen  cause  to  bless 
that  appetite  for  disconnected  fact  and  rotatory  argu- 
ment, which  is  so  marked  a  character  of  the  mechanic. 
But  even  an  audience  of  working-men  has  to  be 
courted,  and  there  was  no  man  more  deeply  versed 
in  the  necessary  arts  than  Joseph  Finsbury.  He* 
placed  his  glasses  on  his  nose,  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  bundle  of  papers,  and  spread  them  before  him  on  a 
table.  He  crumpled  them,  he  smoothed  them  out ; 
now  he  skimmed  them  over,  apparently  well  pleased 
with  their  contents ;  now,  with  tapping  pencil  and 
contracted  brows,  he  seemed  maturely  to  consider 
some  particular  statement.  A  stealthy  glance  about 
the  room  assured  him  of  the  success  of  his  manoeu- 
vres ;  all  eyes  were  turned  on  the  performer,  mouths 
were  open,  pipes  hung  suspended ;  the  birds  were 
charmed.  At  the  same  moment  the  entrance  of 
Mr.  Watts  afforded  him  an  opportunity. 

*  I  observe,'  said  he,  addressing  the  landlord,  but 
taking  at  the  same  time  the  whole  room  into  his 
confidence  with  an  encouraging  look,  '  I  observe 
that   some   of    these   gentlemen   are   looking    with 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  57 

cariosity  in  my  direction ;  and  certainly  it  is  un- 
usual to  see  anyone  immersed  in  literary  and  scien- 
tific labours  in  the  public  apartment  of  an  inn.  I 
have  here  some  calculations  I  made  this  morning 
upon  the  cost  of  living  in  this  and  other  countries — 
a  subject,  I  need  scarcely  say,  highly  interesting  to 
the  working  classes.  I  have  calculated  a  scale  of 
living  for  incomes  of  eighty,  one  hundred  and  sixty, 
two  hundred,  and  two  hundred  and  forty  pounds  a 
year.  I  must  confess  that  the  income  of  eighty 
pounds  has  somewhat  baffled  me,  and  the  others  are 
not  so  exact  as  I  could  wish  ;  for  the  price  of  wash- 
ing varies  largely  in  foreign  countries,  and  the  dif- 
ferent cokes,  coals,  and  firewoods  fluctuate  sur- 
prisingly. I  will  read  my  researches,  and  I  hope 
you  won't  scruple  to  point  out  to  me  any  little 
errors  that  I  may  have  committed  either  from  over- 
sight or  ignorance.  I  will  begin,  gentlemen,  with 
the  income  of  eighty  pounds  a  year.' 

Whereupon  the  old  gentleman,  with  less  com- 
passion than  he  would  have  had  for  brute  beasts, 
delivered  himself  of  all  his  tedious  calculations.  As 
he  occasionally  gave  nine  versions  of  a  single  income, 
placing  the  imaginary  person  in  London,  Paris, 
Bagdad,  Spitzbergen,  Bassorah,  Heligoland,  the 
Scilly  Islands,    Brighton,    Cincinnati,   and    Nijni- 


58  THE   WRONG  BOX 

Novgorod,  with  an  appropriate  outfit  for  each 
locality,  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  hearers  look  back 
on  that  evening  as  the  most  tiresome  they  ever 
spent. 

Long  before  Mr.  Finsbury  had  reached  Nijni- 
Novgorod  with  the  income  of  one  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds,  the  company  had  dwindled  and  faded  away 
to  a  few  old  topers  and  the  bored  but  affable  Watts. 
There  was  a  constant  stream  of  customers  from  the 
outer  world,  but  so  soon  as  they  were  served  they 
drank  their  liquor  quickly,  and  departed  with  the 
utmost  celerity  for  the  next  public-house. 

By  the  time  the  young  man  with  two  hundred  a 
year  was  vegetating  in  the  Scilly  Islands,  Mr.  Watts 
was  left  alone  with  the  economist ;  and  that  imagi- 
nary person  had  scarce  commenced  life  at  Brighton 
before  the  last  of  his  pursuers  desisted  from  the 
chase. 

Mr.  Finsbury  slept  soundly  after  the  manifold 
fatigues  of  the  day.  He  rose  late,  and,  after  a  good 
breakfast,  ordered  the  bill.  Then  it  was  that  he 
made  a  discovery  which  has  been  made  by  many 
others,  both  before  and  since :  that  it  is  one  thing 
to  order  your  bill,  and  another  to  discharge  it.  The 
items  were  moderate  and  (what  does  not  always 
follow)  the  total  small ;  but,  after  the  most  sedulous 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  59 

review  of  all  his  pockets,  one  and  nine  pence  half- 
penny appeared  to  be  the  total  of  the  old  gentle- 
man's available  assets.  '  He  asked  to  see  Mr.  Watts. 

'  Here  is  a  bill  on  London  for  eight  hundred 
pounds/  said  Mr.  Finsbury,  as  that  worthy  appeared. 
'  I  am  afraid,  unless  you  choose  to  discount  it  your- 
self, it  may  detain  me  a  day  or  two  till  I  can  get  it 
cashed.' 

Mr.  Watts  looked  at  the  bill,  turned  it  over,  and 
dogs-eared  it  with  his  fingers.  '  It  will  keep  you  a 
day  or  two  ? '  he  said,  repeating  the  old  man's  words. 
'  You  have  no  other  money  with  you  ? ' 

'  Some  trifling  change,'  responded  Joseph.  ^  No- 
thing to  speak  of.' 

'  Then  you  can  send  it  me  ;  I  should  be  pleased 
to  trust  you.' 

'  To  tell  the  truth,'  answered  the  old  gentleman, 
'  I  am  more  than  half  inclined  to  stay  ;  I  am  in  need 
of  funds.' 

'  If  a  loan  of  ten  shillings  would  help  you,  it  is 
at  your  service,'  responded  Watts,  with  eagerness. 

^  No,  I  think  I  would  rather  stay,'  said  the  old 
man,  '  and  get  my  bill  discounted.' 

'  You  shall '  not  stay  in  my  house,'  cried  Mr. 
Watts.  ^  This  is  the  last  time  you  shall  have  a  bed 
at  the  "  Tregonwell  Arms."  ' 


6o  THE   WRONG  BOX 

'  I  insist  upon  remaining,'  replied  Mr.  Finsbury, 
with  spirit ;  *  I  remain  by  Act  of  Parliament ;  turn 
me  out  if  you  dare.' 

*  Then  pay  your  bill,'  said  Mr.  Watts. 

*  Take  that,'  cried  the  old  man,  tossing  him  the 
negotiable  bill. 

*  It  is  not  legal  tender,'  replied  Mr.  Watts.  '  You 
must  leave  my  house  at  once.' 

'  You  cannot  appreciate  the  contempt  I  feel  for 
you,  Mr.  Watts,'  said  the  old  gentleman,  resigning 
himself  to  circumstances.  *  But  you  shall  feel  it  in 
one  way ;  I  refuse  to  pay  my  bill.' 

*  I  don't  care  for  your  bill,'  responded  Mr.  Watts. 
*  What  I  want  is  your  absence.' 

'  That  you  shall  have ! '  said  the  old  gentleman, 
and,  taking  up  his  forage-cap  as  he  spoke,  he  crammed 
it  on  his  head.  '  Perhaps  you  are  too  insolent,'  he 
added,  *  to  inform  me  of  the  time  of  the  next  London 
train  ? ' 

*  It  leaves  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour,'  rettmed 
the  inn-keeper  with  alacrity.  *You  can  easily 
catch  it.' 

Joseph's  position  was  one  of  considerable  weak- 
ness. On  the  one  hand,  it  would  have  been  well  to 
avoid  the  direct  line  of  railway,  since  it  was  there  he 
might  expect  his  nephews  to  lie  in  wait  for  his  re- 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE  6l 

capture ;  on  tlie  other,  it  was  highly  desirable,  it  was 
even  strictly  needful,  to  get  the  bill  discounted  ere  it 
should  be  stopped.  To  London,  therefore,  he  decided 
to  proceed  on  the  first  train  ;  and  there  remained  but 
one  point  to  be  considered,  how  to  pay  his  fare. 

Joseph's  nails  were  never  clean,  he  ate  almost 
entirely  with  his  knife.  I  doubt  if  you  could  say  he 
had  the  manners  of  a  gentleman ;  but  he  had  better 
than  that,  a  touch  of  genuine  dignity.  Was  it  from 
his  stay  in  Asia  Minor?  Was  it  from  a  strain  in 
the  Finsbury  blood  sometimes  alluded  to  by  cus- 
tomers ?  At  least,  when  he  presented  himself  before 
the  station-master,  his  salaam  was  truly  oriental, 
.palm-trees  appeared  to  crowd  about  the  little  office, 
and  the  simoom  or  the  bulbul — but  I  leave  this  image 
to  persons  better  acquainted  with  the  East.  His  ap- 
pearance, besides,  was  highly  in  his  favour ;  the  uni- 
form of  Sir  Faraday,  however  inconvenient  and 
conspicuous,  was,  at  least,  a  costume  in  which  no 
swindler  could  have  hoped  to  prosper ;  and  the  exhi- 
bition of  a  valuable  watch  and  a  bill  for  eight  hun- 
dred pounds  completed  what  deportment  had  begun. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when  the  train  came  up, 
Mr.  Finsbury  was  introdu^ied  to  the  guard  and  in- 
stalled in  a  first-class  compartment,  the  station- 
master  smilingly  assuming  all  responsibility. 


62  THE    WRONG  BOX 

As  the  old  gentleman  sat  waiting  the  moment  of 
departure,  he  was  the  witness  of  an  incident  strangely 
connected  with  the  fortunes  of  his  house.  A  packing- 
case  of  Cyclopean  bulk  was  borne  along  the  platform 
by  some  dozen  of  tottering  porters,  and  ultimately, 
to  the  delight  of  a  considerable  crowd,  hoisted  on 
board  the  van.  It  is  often  the  cheering  task  of  the 
historian  to  direct  attention  to  the  designs  and  (if  it 
may  be  reverently  said)  the  artifices  of  Providence. 
In  the  luggage  van,  as  Joseph  was  borne  out  of  the 
station  of  Southampton  East  upon  his  way  to  London, 
the  ^^g  of  this  romance  lay  (so  to  speak)  unhatched. 
The  huge  packing-case  was  directed '  to  lie  at  Waterloo 
till  called  for,'  and  addressed  to  one  '  William  Dent 
Pitman ; '  and  the  very  next  article,  a  goodly  barrel 
jammed  into  the  corner  of  the  van,  bore  the  super- 
scription 'M.  Finsbury,  IG  John  Street,  Bloomsbury. 
Carriage  paid.' 

In  this  juxtaposition,  the  train  of  powder  was 
prepared ;  and  there  was  now  wanting  only  an  idle 
hand  to  fire  it  off. 


63 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE   LUGGAGE  VAN 

The  city  of  Winchester  is  famed  for  a  cathedral,  a 
bishop — but  he  was  unfortunately  killed  some  years 
ago  while  riding — a  public  school,  a  considerable 
assortment  of  the  military,  and  the  deliberate  pas- 
sage of  the  trains  on  the  London  and  South  "Western 
line.  These  and  many  similar  associations  would 
have  doubtless  crowded  on  the  mind  of  Joseph 
Finsbury ;  but  his  spirit  had  at  that  time  flitted 
from  the  railway  compartment  to  a  heaven  of  popu- 
lous lecture-halls  and  endless  oratory.  His  body, 
in  the  meanwhile,  lay  doubled  on  the  cushions,  the 
forage-cap  rakishly  tilted  back  after  the  fashion  of 
those  that  lie  in  wait  for  nursery-maids,  the  poor 
old  face  quiescent,  one  arm  clutching  to  his  heart 
Lloyd's  Weekly  Newspajjer. 

To   him,   thus   unconscious,    enter    and   exeunt 
again  a  pair  of  voyagers.     These  two  had  saved  the 


64  THE    WRONG  BOX 

train  and  no  more.  A  tandem  urged  to  its  last 
speed,  an  act  of  something  closely  bordering  on 
brigandage  at  the  ticket  office,  and  a  spasm  of  run- 
ning, had  brought  them  on  the  platform  just  as  the 
engine  uttered  its  departing  snort.  There  was  but 
one  carriage  easily  within  their  reach ;  and  they  had 
sprung  into  it,  and  the  leader  and  elder  already  had 
his  feet  upon  the  floor,  when  he  observed  Mr. 
Finsbury. 

'  Good  God ! '  he  cried,  *  Uncle  Joseph !  This'll 
never  do.' 

And  he  backed  out,  almost  upsetting  his  com- 
panion, and  once  more  closed  the  door  upon  the 
sleeping  patriarch. 

The  next  moment  the  pair  had  jumped  into  the 
baggage  van. 

*  What's  the  row  about  your  Uncle  Joseph  ? ' 
inquired  the  younger  traveller,  mopping  his  brow. 
'  Does  he  object  to  smoking  ?  * 

*  I  don't  know  that  there's  anything  the  row  with 
him,'  returned  the  other.  *  He's  by  no  means  the 
first  comer,  my  Uncle  Joseph,  I  can  tell  you  !  Very 
respectable  old  gentleman;  interested  in  leather; 
been  to  Asia  Minor;  no  family,  no  assets — and  a 
tongue,  my  dear  Wickham,  sharper  than  a  serpent's 
tooth/ 


THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE  LUGGAGE  VAN  65 

'  Cantankerous  old  party,  eli  ? '  suggested  Wick- 
ham. 

'  Not  in  the  least,'  cried  the  other ;  ^  only  a  man 
with  a  solid  talent  for  being  a  bore ;  rather  cheery, 
I  dare  say,  on  a  desert  island,  but  on  a  railway 
journey,  insupportable.  You  should  hear  him  on 
Tonti,  the  ass  that  started  tontines.  He's  incredible 
on  Tonti.' 

*  By  Jove ! '  cried  Wickham,  '  then  you're  one  of 
these  Finsbury  tontine  fellows.  I  hadn't  a  guess  of 
that.' 

^  Ah  ! '  said  the  other,  '  do  you  know  that  old 
boy  in  the  carriage  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  to  me  ?  There  he  was  asleep,  and  nobody 
there  but  you !  But  I  sjDared  him,  because  I'm  a 
Conservative  in  politics.' 

Mr.  Wickham,  pleased  to  be  in  a  luggage  van, 
was  flitting  to  and  fro  like  a  gentlemanly  butterfly. 

'  By  Jingo  ! '  he  cried,  '  here's  something  for  you  ! 

*» 

"  M.  Finsbury,  16  John  Street,  Bloomsbury,  Lon- 
don." M.  stands  for  Michael,  you  sly  dog ;  you 
keep  two  establishments,  do  you  ? ' 

'  Oh,  that's  Morris,'  responded  Michael  from  the 
other  end  of  the  van,  where  he  had  found  a  comfort- 
able seat  upon  some  sacks.  '  He's  a  little  cousin  of 
mine.     I  like  him  myself,  because  he's  afraid  of  me. 

F 


66  THE    WRONG  BOX 


He*s  one  of  the  ornaments  of  Bloomsbury,  and  has 
a  collection  of  some  kind — birds'  eggs  or  something 
that's  supposed  to  be  curious.  I  bet  it's  nothing  to 
my  clients ! ' 

'  What  a  lark  it  would  be  to  play  billy  with  the 
labels ! '  chuckled  Mr.  Wickham.  *  By  George, 
here's  a  tack-hammer !  "We  might  send  all  these 
things  skipping  about  the  premises  like  what's-his- 
name ! ' 

At  this  moment  the  guard,  surprised  by  the 
sound  of  voices,  opened  the  door  of  his  little  cabin. 

*  You  had  best  step  in  here,  gentlemen,'  said  he, 
when  he  had  heard  their  story. 

*  Won't  you  come,  Wickham  ?  '  asked  Michael. 

*  Catch  me — I  want  to  travel  in  a  van,'  replied 
the  youth. 

And  so  the  door  of  communication  was  closed  j 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  run  Mr.  Wickham  was  left 
alone  over  his  diversions  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  Michael  and  the  guard  were  closeted  together 
in  familiar  talk^ 

'  I  can  get  you  a  compartment  here,  sir,'  observed 
the  official,  as  the  train  began  to  slacken  speed  before 
Bishopstoke  station.  '  You  had  best  get  out  at  my 
door,  and  I  can  bring  your  friend.' 

Mr.  Wickham,  whom  we  left  (as  the  reader  has 


THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE  LUGGAGE  VAN  67 

shrewdly  suspected)  beginning  to  '  play  billy '  with 
the  labels  in  the  van,  was  a  young  gentleman  of 
much  wealth,  a  pleasing  but  sandy  exterior,  and  a 
highly  vacant  mind.  Not  many  months  before,  he 
had  contrived  to  get  himself  black-mailed  by  the 
family  of  a  Wallachian  Hospodar,  resident  for  poli- 
tical reasons  in  the  gay  city  of  Paris.  A  common 
friend  (to  whom  he  had  confided  his  distress)  re- 
commended him  to  Michael ;  and  the  lawyer  was  no 
sooner  in  possession  of  the  facts  than  he  instantly 
assumed  the  offensive,  fell  on  the  flank  of  the  Walla- 
chian forces,  and,  in  the  inside  of  three  days,  had  the 
satisfaction  to  behold  them  routed  and  fleeing  for  the 
Danube.  It  is  no  business  of  ours  to  follow  them  on 
this  retreat,  over  which  the  police  were  so  obliging 
as  to  preside  paternally.  Thus  relieved  from  what 
he  loved  to  refer  to  as  the  Bulgarian  Atrocity,  Mr. 
Wickham  returned  to  London  with  the  most  un- 
bounded and  embarrassing  gratitude  and  admiration 
for  his  saviour.  These  sentiments  were  not  repaid 
either  in  kind  or  degree  ;  indeed,  Michael  was  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  his  new  client's  friendship  \  it  had  taken 
many  invitations  to  get  him  to  Winchester  and  Wick- 
ham Manor ;  but  he  had  gone  at  last,  and  was  now 
returning.  It  has  been  remarked  by  some  judicious 
thinker  (possibly  J.  F.  Smith)  that  Providence  de- 


68  THE    WRONG  BOX 

spises  to  employ  no  instrument,  however  humble ; 
and  it  is  now  plain  to  the  dullest  that  both  Mr. 
Wickham  and  the  Wallachian  Hospodar  were  liquid 
lead  and  wedges  in  the  hand  of  Destiny. 

Smitten  with  the  desire  to  shine  in  Michael's 
eyes  and  show  himself  a  person  of  original  humour 
and  resources,  the  young  gentleman  (who  was  a 
magistrate,  more  by  token,  in  his  native  county)  was 
no  sooner  alone  in  the  van,  than  he  fell  upon  the 
labels  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  reformer ;  and,  when  he 
rejoined  the  lawyer  at  Bishopstoke,  his  face  was 
flushed  with  his  exertions,  and  his  cigar,  which  he 
had  suffered  to  go  out,  was  almost  bitten  in  two. 

'  By  George,  but  this  has  been  a  lark  ! '  he  cried. 
*  IVe  sent  the  wrong  thing  to  everybody  in  England. 
These  cousins  of  yours  have  a  packing-case  as  big 
as  a  house.  I've  muddled  the  whole  business -up  to 
that  extent,  Finsbury,  that  if  it  were  to  get  out  it's 
my  belief  we  should  be  lynched.' 

It  was  useless  to  be  serious  with  Mr.  Wickham. 
'  Take  care,'  said  Michael.  '  I  am  getting  tired  of 
your  perpetual  scrapes  ;  my  reputation  is  beginning 
to  suffer.' 

'  Your  reputation  will  be  all  gone  before  you 
finish  with  me,'  replied  his  companion  with  a  grin. 
'  Clap  it  in  the  bill,  my  boy.     "  For  total  loss  of  re- 


THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE  LUGGAGE  VAN  69 

putation,  six  and  eightpence."  But,'  continued  Mr. 
Wickham  with  more  seriousness,  '  could  I  be  bowled 
out  of  the  Commission  for  this  little  jest  ?  I  know 
it's  small,  but  I  like  to  be  a  J.P.  Speaking  as  a 
professional  man,  do  you  think  there's  any  risk  ? ' 

'What  does  it  matter?'  responded  Michael, 
'  they'll  chuck  you  out  sooner  or  later.  Somehow  you 
don't  give  the  effect  of  being  a  good  magistrate.' 

'  I  only  wish  I  was  a  solicitor,'  retorted  his  com- 
panion, '  instead  of  a  poor  devil  of  a  country  gentle- 
man. Suppose  we  start  one  of  those  tontine  affairs 
ourselves ;  I  to  pay  five  hundred  a  year,  and  3'ou  to 
guarantee  me  against  every  misfortune  except  illness 
or  marriage.' 

'  It  strikes  me,'  remarked  the  lawyer  with  a  medi- 
tative laugh,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar,  '  it  strikes  me 
that  you  must  be  a  cursed  nuisance  in  this  world  of 
ours.' 

'  Do  you  really  think  so,  Finsbury  ? '  responded 
the  magistrate,  leaning  back  in  his  cushions,  de- 
lighted with  the  compliment.  '  Yes,  I  suppose  I  am 
a  nuisance.  But,  mind  you,  I  have  a  stake  in  the 
country  :  don't  forget  that,  dear  boy.' 


70  THE    WRONG  BOX 


CHAPTER  V 

MR.   GIDEON   FORSYTH  AND  THE   GIGAN'HC   BOX 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  at  Bournemouth  Julia 
sometimes  made  acquaintances;  it  is  true  she  had 
but  a  glimpse  of  them  before  the  doors  of  John 
Street  closed  again  upon  its  captives,  but  the  glimpse 
was  sometimes  exhilarating,  and  the  consequent 
regret  was  tempered  with  hope.  Among  those 
whom  she  had  thus  met  a  year  before  was  a  young 
barrister  of  the  name  of  Gideon  Forsyth. 

About  three  o'clock  of  the  eventful  day  when 
the  magistrate  tampered  with  the  labels,  a  somewhat 
moody  and  distempered  ramble  had  carried  Mr. 
Forsyth  to  the  corner  of  John  Street ;  and  about  the 
same  moment  Miss  Hazeltine  was  called  to  the  door 
of  No.  16  by  a 'thundering  double  knock. 

Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth  was  a  happy  enough  young 
man  ;  he  would  have  been  happier  if  he  had  had 
more   money   and   less    uncle.      One   hundred   and 


MR.   FORSYTH  AND   THE  GIGANTIC  BOX  y\ 

twenty  pounds  a  year  was  all  his  store ;  but  liis 
uncle,  Mr.  Edward  Hugh  Bloomfieldj  supplemented 
this  with  a  handsome  allowance  and  a  great  deal  of 
advice,  couched  in  language  that  would  probably 
have  been  judged  intemperate  on  board  a  pirate  ship. 
Mr.  Bloorafield  was  indeed  a  figure  quite  peculiar 
to  the  days  of  Mr.  Gladstone  ;  what  we  may  call  (for 
the  lack  of  an  accepted  expression)  a  Squirradical. 
Having  acquired  j^ears  without  experience,  he  carried 
into  the  Radical  side  of  politics  those  noisy,  after- 
dinner-table  passions,  which  we  are  more  accustomed 
to  connect  with  Toryism  in  its  severe  and  senile  as- 
pects. To  the  opinions  of  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  in  fact,  he 
added  the  temper  and  the  sympathies  of  that  extinct 
animal,  the  Squire.  He  admired  pugilism,  he  carried 
a  formidable  oaken  staff,  he  was  a  reverent  church- 
man, and  it  was  hard  to  know  which  would  have 
more  volcanically  stirred  his  choler — a  person  who 
should  have  defended  the  established  church,  or  one 
who  should  have  neglected  to  attend  its  celebrations. 
He  had  besides  some  levelling  catch- words,  justly 
dreaded  in  the  family  circle  ;  and  when  he  could  not 
go  so  far  as  to  declare  a  step  un-English,  he  might 
still  (and  with  hardly  less  effect)  denounce  it  as  un- 
practical. It  was  under  the  ban  of  this  lesser  ex- 
communication that  Gideon  had  fallen.     His  views 


72  THE   WRONG  BOX 


on  the  study  of  law  had  been  pronounced  unpractical ; 
and  it  had  been  intimated  to  him,  in  a  vociferous 
interview  punctuated  with  the  oaken  staff,  that  he 
must  either  take  a  new  start  and  get  a  brief  or  two, 
or  prepare  to  live  on  his  own  money. 

No  wonder  if  Gideon  was  moody.  He  had  not 
the  slightest  wish  to  modify  his  present  habits ;  but 
he  would  not  stand  on  that,  since  the  recall  of  Mr. 
Bloomfield's  allowance  would  revolutionise  them  sjill 
more  radically.  He  liad  not  the  least  desire  to 
acquaint  himself  with  law ;  he  had  looked  into  it 
already,  and  it  seemed  not  to  repay  attention ;  but 
upon  this  also  he  was  ready  to  give  way.  In  fact, 
he  would  go  as  far  as  he  could  to  meet  the  views 
of  his  uncle,  the  Squirradical.  But  there  was  one 
part  of  the  programme  that  appeared  independent  of 
his  will.  How  to  get  a  brief?  there  was  the  question. 
And  there  was  another  and  a  worse.  Suppose  he 
got  one,  should  he  prove  the  better  mar^  ? 

Suddenly  he  found  his  way  barred  by  a  crowd. 
A  garishly  illuminated  van  was  backed  against  the 
kerb ;  from  its  open  stern,  half  resting  on  the  street, 
half  supported  by  some  glistening  athletes,  the  end 
of  the  largest  packing-case  in  the  county  of  Middlesex 
might  have  been  seen  protruding ;  while,  on  the  steps 
of  the  house,  the  burly  person  of  the  driver  and  the 


MR.   FORSYTH  AND   THE   GIGANTIC  BOX  73 

slim  figure  of  a  young  girl  stood  as  upon  a  stage, 
disputing. 

'  It  is  not  for  us,'  the  girl  was  saying.  '  I  beg 
you  to  take  it  away ;  it  couldn't  get  into  the  house, 
even  if  you  managed  to  get  it  out  of  the  van.' 

*  I  shall  leave  it  on  the  pavement,  then,  and  M. 
Finsbury  can  arrange  with  the  Vestry  as  he  likes,' 
said  the  van-man. 

[  But  I  am  not  M.  Finsbury,'  expostulated  the 
girl. 

'  It  doesn't  matter  who  you  are,'  said  the  van-man. 
'  You  must  allow  me  to  help  you.  Miss  Hazel- 
tine,'  said  Gideon,  putting  out  his  hand. 

Julia  gave  a  little  cry  of  pleasure.  '  Oh,  Mr. 
Forsyth,'  she  cried,  '  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ;  we 
must  get  this  horrid  thing,  which  can  only  have 
come  here  by  mistake,  into  the  house.  The  man 
says  we'll  have  to  take  off  the  door,  or  knock 
two  of  our  windows  into  one,  or  be  fined  by  the 
Vestry  or  Custom  House  or  something  for  leaving 
our  parcels  on  the  pavement.' 

The  men,  by  this  time,  had  successfully  removed 
the  box  from  the  van,  had  plumped  it  down  on  the 
pavement,  and  now  stood  leaning  against  it,  or  gazing 
at  the  door  of  No.  16,  in  visible  physical  distress  and 
mental  embarrassment.     The  windows  of  the  whole 


74  THE   WRONG  BOX 


street  had  filled,  as  if  by  magic,  with  interested  and 
entertained  spectators. 

With  as  thoughtful  and  scientific  an  expression 
as  he  could  assume,  Gideon  measured  the  doorway 
with  his  cane,  while  Julia  entered  his  observations  in 
a  drawing-book.  He  then  measured  the  box,  and, 
upon  comparing  his  data,  found  that  there  was  just 
enough  space  for  it  to  enter.  Next,  throwing  off  his 
coat  and  waistcoat,  he  assisted  the  men  to  take  the 
door  from  its  hinges.  And  lastly,  all  by-standers 
being  pressed  into  the  service,  the  packing-case 
mounted  the  steps  upon  some  fifteen  pairs  of  waver- 
ing legs — scraped,  loudly  grinding,  through  the 
doorway — and  was  deposited  at  length,  with  a  for- 
midable convulsion,  in  the  far  end  of  the  lobby, 
which  it  almost  blocked.  The  artisans  of  this  victory 
smiled  upon  each  other  as  the  dust  subsided.  It 
was  true  they  had  smashed  a  bust  of  Apollo  and 
ploughed  the  wall  into  deep  ruts ;  but,  at  least, 
they  were  no  longer  one  of  the  public  spectacles  of 
London. 

'  Well,  sir,'  said  the  van-man,  '  I  never  see  such 
a  job.' 

Gideon  eloquently  expressed  his  concurrence  in 
this  sentiment  by  pressing  a  couple  of  sovereigns  in 
the  man's  hand. 


MR,  FORSYTH  AND   THE   GIGANTIC  BOX  75 

'  Make  it  tliree,  sir,  and  I'll  stand  Sam  to  every- 
body here ! '  cried  the  latter ;  and,  this  having  been 
done,  the  whole  body  of  volunteer  porters  swarmed 
into  the  van,  which  drove  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
nearest  reliable  public-house.  Gideon  closed  the 
door  on  their  departure  and  turned  to  Julia ;  their 
eyes  met ;  the  most  uncontrollable  mirth  seized  upon 
them  both,  and  they  made  the  house  ring  with  their 
laughter.  Then  curiosity  awoke  in  Julia's  mind, 
and  she  went  and  examined  the  box,  and  more 
especially  the  label. 

'-  This  is  the  strangest  thing  that  ever  happened, 
she  said,  with  another  burst  of  laughter.  '  It  is 
certainly  Morris's  handwriting,  and  I  had  a  letter 
from  him  only  this  morning  telling  me  to  expect  a 
barrel.     Is  there  a  barrel  coming,  too,  do  you  think, 

Mr.  Forsvth  ? ' 

1/ 

'-  Statuary  with  Care,  Fragile,'  read  Gideon  aloud 
from  the  painted  warning  on  the  box.  '  Then  you 
were  told  nothing  about  this  ?  ' 

'  No,'  responded  Julia.  '  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth,  don't 
you  think  w^e  might  take  a  peep  at  it  ? ' 

'  Yes,  indeed,'  cried  Gideon.  '  Just  let  me  have 
a  hammer.' 

'  Come  down,  and  I'll  show  you  where  it  is, 
cried  Julia,  ^  the  shelf  is  too  high  for  me  to  reach  ; ' 


76  THE    WRONG  BOX 


and,  opening  the  door  of  the  kitchen  stair,  she  bade 
Gideon  follow  her.  They  found  both  the  hammer 
and  a  chisel ;  but  Gideon  was  surprised  to  see  no 
sign  of  a  servant.  He  also  discovered  that  Miss 
Hazeltine  had  a  very  pretty  little  foot  and  ankle  ; 
and  the  discovery  embarrassed  him  so  much  that  he 
was  glad  to  fall  at  once  upon  the  packing-case. 

He  worked  hard  and  earnestly,  and  dealt  his 
blows  with  the  precision  of  a  blacksmith ;  Julia  the 
while  standing  silently  by  his  side  and  regarding 
rather  the  workman  than  the  work.  He  was  a 
handsome  fellow,  she  told  herself;  she  had  never 
seen  such  beautiful  arms.  And  suddenly,  as  though 
he  had  overheard  these  thoughts,  Gideon  turned  and 
smiled  to  her.  She,  too,  smiled  and  coloured ;  and 
the  double  change  became  her  so  prettily  that 
Gideon  forgot  to  turn  away  his  eyes,  and,  swinging 
the  hammer  with  a  will,  discharged  a  smashing  blow 
on  his  own  knuckles.  With  admirable  presence  of 
mind  he  crushed  down  an  oath  and  substituted  the 
harmless  comment,  '-  butter  fingers  ! '  But  the  pain 
wiis  sharp,  his  nerve  was  shaken,  and  after  an 
abortive  trial  he  found  he  must  desist  from  further 
operations. 

In  a  moment  Julia  was  off  to  the  pantry,  in  a 
moment  she  was  back  again  with  a  basin  of  water 


MR.  FORSYTH  AND   THE   GIGANTIC  BOX  yj 

and  a  sponge,  and  had  begun  to  bathe  liis  wounded 
hand. 

'  I  am  dreadfully  sorry,'  said  Gideon  apologeti- 
cally. '  If  I  had  had  any  manners  I  should  have 
opened  the  box  first,  and  smashed  my  hand  after- 
ward. It  feels  much  better,'  he  added.  '  I  assure 
you  it  does.' 

'  And  now  1  think  you  are  well  enough  to  direct 
operations,'  said  she.  '  Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I'll 
be  your  workman.' 

'  A  very  pretty  workman,'  said  Gideon,  rather 
forgetting  himself.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him, 
with  a  suspicion  of  a  frown ;  and  the  indiscreet 
young  man  was  glad  to  direct  her  attention  to  the 
packing-case.  The  bulk  of  the  work  had  been  ac- 
complished ;  and  presently  Julia  had  burst  through 
the  last  barrier  and  disclosed  a  zone  of  straw.  In  a 
moment  they  were  kneeling  side  by  side,  engaged 
like  hay-makers  ;  the  next  they  were  rewarded  with 
a  glimpse  of  something  white  and  polished;  and 
the  next  again  laid  bare  an  unmistakable  marble 
leg. 

'  He  is  surely  a  very  athletic  person,'  said  Julia. 

'  I  never  saw  anything  like  it,'  responded  Gideon. 
*  His  muscles  stand  out  like  penny  rolls.' 

Another  leg  was  soon  disclosed,  and  then  what 


78  THE   WRONG  BOX 

seemed  to  be  a  third.     This  resolved  itself,  however, 
into  a  knotted  club  resting  upon  a  pedestal. 

*  It  is  a  Hercules,'  cried  Gideon  ;  *  I  might  have 
guessed  that  from  his  calf.  I'm  supposed  to  be 
rather  partial  to  statuary,  but  when  it  comes  to 
Hercules,  the  police  should  interfere.  I  should  say,' 
he  added,  glancing  with  disaffection  at  the  swollen 
leg,  *  that  this  was  about  the  biggest  and  the  worst 
in  Europe.  What  in  heaven's  name  can  have 
induced  him  to  come  here  ? ' 

^  I  suppose  nobody  else  would  have  a  gift  of  him,' 
said  Julia.  *  And  for  that  matter,  I  think  we  could 
have  done  without  the  monster  very  well.' 

*0h,  don't  say  that,'  returned  Gideon.  *This 
has  been  one  of  the  most  amusing  experiences  of  my 
life.' 

'  I  don't  think  you'll  forget  it  very  soon,'  said 
Julia.     *  Your  hand  will  remind  you.' 

'  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be  going,'  said  Gideon, 
reluctantly. 

^  No,'  pleaded  Julia.  '  Why  should  you  ?  Stay 
and  have  tea  with  me.' 

*  If  I  thought  you  really  wished  me  to  stay,'  said 
Gideon,  looking  at  his  hat,  *  of  course  I  should  only  be 
too  delighted.' 

'  What  a  silly  person  you  must  take  me  for ! ' 


MR.  FORSYTH  AND   THE   GIGANTIC  BOX  79 

returned  the  girl.  '  Why,  of  course  I  do  ;  and  besides 
I  want  some  cakes  for  tea,  and  I've  nobody  to  send. 
Here  is  the  latch-key.' 

Gideon  put  on  his  hat  with  alacrity,  and  casting 
one  look  at  Miss  Hazeltine,  and  another  at  the  legs  of 
Hercules,  threw  open  the  door  and  departed  on  his 
errand. 

He  returned  with  a  large  bag  of  the  choicest  and 
most  tempting  of  cakes  and  tartlets,  and  found  Julia 
in  the  act  of  spreading  a  small  tea-table  in  the  lobby. 

'  The  rooms  are  all  in  such  a  state,'  she  cried, 
'  that  I  thought  we  should  be  more  cosy  and  com- 
fortable in  our  own  lobby,  and  under  our  own  vine  and 
statuary.' 

'  Ever  so  much  better,'  cried  Gideon  delightedly. 

'  Oh,  what  adorable  cream  tarts ! '  said  Julia, 
opening  the  bag,  '  and  the  dearest  little  cherry 
tartlets,  with  all  the  cherries  spilled  out  into  the 
cream ! ' 

*  Yes,'  said  Gideon,  concealing  his  dismay,  ^  I 
knew  they  would  mix  beautifully ;  the  woman  behind 
the  counter  told  me  so.' 

'  Now,'  said  Julia,  as  they  began  their  little  festi- 
val, ^  I  am  going  to  show  you  Morris's  letter  ;  read  it 
aloud,  please  5  perhaps  there's  something  I  have 
missed.' 


8o  THE   WRONG  BOX 

Gideon  took  the  letter,  and  spreading  it  out  on 
his  knee,  read  as  follows : — 

*  Dear  Julia, — I  write  you  from  Browndean, 
where  we  are  stopping  over  for  a  few  days.  Uncle  was 
much  shaken  in  that  dreadful  accident,  of  which,  I 
dare  say,  you  have  seen  the  account.  To-morrow  I 
leave  him  here  with  John,  and  come  up  alone  ;  but 
before  that  you  will  have  received  a  bari'el  containing 
specimens  for  a  friend.  Do  not  open  it  on  any  account 
but  leave  it  in  the  lobby  till  I  come. 

*  Yours  in  haste, 

*M.  FlNSBURY. 

'  P.S. — Be  sure  and  leave  the  barrel  in  the 
lobby; 

*No,'  said  Gideon,  'there  seems  to  be  nothing 
about  the  monument,'  and  he  nodded  as  he  spoke  at 
the  marble  legs.  *  Miss  Hazeltine,'  he  continued, 
*  would  you  mind  me  asking  a  few  questions  ?  ' 

*  Certainly  not,'  replied  Julia ;  '  and  if  you  can 
make  me  understand  why  Morris  has  sent  a  statue  of 
Hercules  instead  of  a  barrel  containing  specimens  for 
a  friend,  I  shall  be  grateful  till  my  dying  day.  And 
what  are  specimens  for  a  friend  ? ' 

*  I  haven't  a  guess,'  said  Gideon.  *  Specimens  are 
usually  bits  of  stone,  but  rather  smaller  than   our 


MR.  FORSYTH  AND   THE   GIGANTIC  BOX    8i 

friend  the  monument.     Still,  that  is   not   the  point. 
Are  you  quite  alone  in  this  big  house  ? ' 

'  Yes,  I  am  at  present,'  returned  Julia.  '  I  came, 
up  before  them  to  prepare  the  house,  and  get  another 
servant.     But  I  couldn't  get  one  I  liked.' 

'  Then  you  are  utterly  alone,'  said  Gideon  in 
amazement.     '  Are  you  not  afraid? ' 

'  No,'  responded  Julia  stoutly.  '  I  don't  see  why 
I  should  be  more  afraid  than  you  would  be ;  I  am 
weaker,  of  course,  but  when  I  found  I  must  sleep 
alone  in  the  house,  I  bought  a  revolver  wonderfully 
cheap,  and  made  the  man  show  me  how  to  use  it.' 

'  And  how  do  you  use  it  ?  '  demanded  Gideon,  much 
amused  at  her  courage. 

'  Why,'  said  she,  with  a  smile,  '  you  pull  the  little 
trigger  thing  on  top,  and  then  pointing  it  very  low, 
for  it  springs  up  as  you  fire,  you  pull  the  underneath 
little  trigger  thing,  and  it  goes  off  as  well  as  if  a  man 
had  done  it.' 

'  And  how  often  have  you  used  it  ?  '  asked  Gideon. 

'  Oh,  I  have  not  used  it  yet,'  said  the  determined 
young  lady  ;  '  but  I  know  how,  and  that  makes  me 
wonderfully  courageous,  especially  when  I  barricade 
my  door  with  a  chest  of  drawers.' 

'I'm  awfully  glad  they  are  coming  back  soon,' 
said  Gideon.     'This  business   strikes  me  as  exces- 


82  THE    WRONG  BOX 

sively  unsafe ;  if  it  goes  on  much  longer,  I  could 
provide  you  with  a  maiden  aunt  of  mine,  or  my  land- 
lady, if  you  preferred.' 

'  Lend  me  an  aunt ! '  cried  Julia.  *  Oh,  what 
generosity !  I  begin  to  think  it  must  have  been  you 
that  sent  the  Hercules.' 

*  Believe  me,'  cried  the  young  man,  ^I  admire 
you  too  much  to  send  you  such  an  infamous  work  of 
art.' 

Julia  was  beginning  to  reply,  when  they  were 
both  startled  by  a  knocking  at  the  door. 
'  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth ! ' 

*  Don't  be  afraid,  my  dear  girl,'  said  Gideon,  lay- 
ing his  hand  tenderly  on  her  arm. 

'  I  know  it's  the  police,'  she  whispered.  *  They 
are  coming  to  complain  about  the  statue.' 

The  knock  was  repeated.  It  was  louder  than  be- 
fore, and  more  impatient. 

*  It's  Morris,'  cried  Julia  in  a  startled  voice,  and 
she  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

It  was  indeed  Morris  that  stood  before  them; 
not  the  Morris  of  ordinary  days,  but  a  wild-looking 
fellow,  pale  and  haggard,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and 
a  two-days'  beard  upon  his  chin. 

'  The  barrel ! '  he  cried.     '  Where's  the  barrel  that 
came  this  morning  ? '  and  he  stared  about  the  lobby. 


MR.  FORSYTH  AND   THE   GIGANTIC  BOX    83 

his  eyes,  as  they  fell  upon  the  legs  of  Hercules,  lite- 
rally goggling  in  his  head.  ^  What  is  that  ? '  he 
screamed.  '  What  is  that  wax-work  ?  Speak,  you 
fool !  What  is  that  ?  and  where's  the  barrel — the 
water-butt  ? ' 

'  No  barrel  came,  Morris,'  responded  Julia  coldly. 
'  This  is  the  olily  thing  that  has  arrived.' 

'  This ! '  shrieked  the  miserable  man.  '  I  never 
heard  of  it ! ' 

'  It  came  addressed  in  your  hand,'  replied  Julia  ; 
'  we  had  nearly  to  pull  the  house  down  to  get  it  in, 
and  that  is  all  that  I  can  tell  you.' 

Morris  gazed  at  her  in  utter  bewilderment.  He 
passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  he  leaned  against 
the  wall  like  a  man  about  to  faint.  Then  his  tongue 
was  loosed,  and  he  overwhelmed  the  girl  with  torrents 
of  abuse.  Such  fire,  such  directness,  such  a  choice  of 
un  gentlemanly  language,  none  had  ever  before  sus- 
pected Morris  to  possess ;  and  the  girl  trembled  and 
shrank  before  his  fury. 

'-  You  shall  not  speak  to  Miss  Hazeltine  in  that 
way,'  said  Gideon  sternly.  '  It  is  what  I  will  not 
suffer.' 

'•  I  shall  speak  to  the  girl  as  I  like,'  returned 
Morris,  with  a  fresh  outburst  of  anger.  ^  I'll  speak 
to  the  hussy  as  she  deserves.' 

G  2 


84  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  Not  a  word  more,  sir,  not  one  word,'  cried 
Gideon.  '  Miss  Hazeltine,'  he  continued,  addressing 
the  young  girl,  '  you  cannot  stay  a  moment  longer  in 
the  same  house  with  this  unmanly  fellow.  Here  is 
my  arm,  let  me  take  you  where  you  will  be  secure 
from  insult.' 

'  Mr.  Forsyth,'  returned  Julia,  *  you  are  right,  I 
cannot  stay  here  longer,  and  I  am  sure  I  trust  myself 
to  an  honourable  gentleman.' 

Pale  and  resolute,  Gideon  offered  her  his  arm,  and 
the  pair  descended  the  steps,  followed  by  Morris 
clamouring  for  the  latch-key. 

Julia  had  scarcely  handed  the  key  to  Morris  before 
an  empty  hansom  drove  smartly  into  John  Street. 
It  was  hailed  by  both  men,  and  as  the  cabman  drew 
up  his  restive  horse,  Morris  made  a  dash  into  the 
vehicle. 

'Sixpence  above  fare,'  he  cried  recklessly. 
'  Waterloo  station  for  your  life.  Sixpence  for  your- 
self!' 

'  Make  it  a  shilling,  Guv'ner,'  said  the  man,  with 
a  grin, '  the  other  parties  were  first.' 

'  A  shilling  then,'  cried  Morris,  with  the  inward 
reflection  that  he  would  reconsider  it  at  Waterloo. 
The  man  whipped  up  his  horse,  and  the  hansom 
vanished  from  John  Street, 


85 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF   MORRIS  :    PART   THE   FIRST 

As  the  hansom  span  through  the  streets  of  London, 
Morris  sought  to  rally  the  forces  of  his  mind.  The 
water-butt  with  the  dead  body  had  miscarried,  and 
it  was  essential  to  recover  it.  So  much  was  clear ; 
and  if,  by  some  blest  good-fortune,  it  was  still  at  the 
station,  all  might  be  well.  If  it  had  been  sent  out, 
however,  if  it  were  already  in  the  hands  of  some 
wrong  person,  matters  looked  more  ominous.  People 
who  receive  unexplained  packages  are  usually  keen 
to  have  them  open;  the  example  of  Miss  Hazeltine 
(whom  he  cursed  again)  was  there  to  remind  him  of 
the  circumstance ;  and  if  anyone  had  opened  the 
water-butt — '  Oh,  Lord/  cried  Morris  at  the  thought, 
and  carried  his  hand  to  his  damp  forehead.  The 
private  conception  of  any  breach  of  law  is  apt  to  be 
inspiriting,  for  the  scheme  (while  yet  inchoate)  wears 
dashing  and  attractive  colours.  Not  so  in  the  least 
that  part  of  the  criminal's  latar  reflections  which  deal 


86  THE    WRONG  BOX 

with  the  police.  That  useful  corps  (as  Morris  now 
began  to  think)  had  scarce  been  kept  sufficiently  in 
view  when  he  embarked  upon  his  enterprise.  '  I 
must  play  devilish  close/  he  reflected,  and  he  was 
aware  of  an  exquisite  thrill  of  fear  in  the  region  of 
the  spine. 

*Main  line,  or  loop?'  inquired  the  cabman, 
through  the  scuttle. 

*  Main  line,'  replied  Morris,  and  mentally  decided 
that  the  man  should  have  his  shilling  after  all.  '  It 
would  be  madness  to  attract  attention,'  thought  he, 
'  But  what  this  thing  will  cost  me,  first  and  last, 
begins  to  be  a  nightmare ! ' 

He  passed  through  the  bookiijg  office  and  wan- 
dered disconsolately  on  the  j)latform.  It  was  a 
breathing  space  in  the  day's  traffic ;  there  were  i^^^ 
people  there,  and  these  for  the  most  part  quiescent 
on  the  benches.  !Morris  seemed  to  attract  no  remark, 
which  was  a  good  thing ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
was  making  no  progress  in  his  quest.  Something 
must  be  done,  something  must  be  risked;  every 
passing  instant  only  added  to  his  dangers.  Sum- 
moning all  his  courage,  he  stopped  a  porter,  and 
asked  him  if  he  remembered  receiving  a  barrel  by 
the  morning  train ;  he  was  anxious  to  get  informa- 
tion, for  the  barrel  belonged  to  a  friend.     '  It  is  a 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS  87 

matter  of  some  moment,'  he  added,  '  for  it  contains 
specimens.' 

'  I  was  not  here  this  morning,  sir,'  responded  the 
porter,  somewhat  reluctantly,  '  but  I'll  ask  Bill.  Do 
you  recollect.  Bill,  to  have  got  a  barrel  from  Bourne- 
mouth this  morning  containing  specimens  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know  about  specimens,'  replied  Bill ; 
'  but  the  party  as  received  the  barrel  I  mean  raised 
a  sight  of  trouble.' 

'  What's  that  ?  '  cried  Morris,  in  the  agitation  of 
the  moment,  pressing  a  penny  into  the  man's  hand. 

'  You  see,  sir,  the  barrel  arrived  at  one  thirty ; 
no  one  claimed  it  till  about  three,  when  a  small, 
sickly-looking  gentleman  (probably  a  curate)  came 
up,  and  sez  he,  '  Have  you  got  anything  for  Pitman,' 
or  '' Will'm  Bent  Pitman,"  if  I  recollect  right.  "I 
don't  exactly  know,"  sez  I,  ''  but  I  rather  fancy  that 
there  barrel  bears  that  name."  The  little  man  went 
up  to  the  barrel,  and  seemed  regularly  all  took  aback 
when  he  saw  the  address,  and  then  he  pitched  into 
us  for  not  having  brought  what  he  wanted.  ''  I 
don't  care  a  damn  what  you  want,"  sez  I  to  him, 
"but  if  you  are  Will'm  Bent  Pitman,  there's  your 
barrel." ' 

^  Well,  and  did  he  take  it  ? '  cried  the  breathless 
Morris. 


88  THE    WRONG  BOX 

^Well,  sir,'  returned  Bill,  'it  appears  it  was  a 
packing-case  he  was  after.  The  packing-case  came ; 
that's  sure  enough,  because  it  was  about  the  biggest 
packing-case  ever  I  clapped  eyes  on.  And  this 
Pitman  he  seemed  a  good  deal  cut  up,  and  he  had 
the  superintendent  out,  and  they  got  hold  of  the  van 
man — him  as  took  the  packing-case.  Well,  sir,' 
continued  Bill,  vv^ith  a  smile,  '  I  never  see  a  man  in 
such  a  state ;  everybody  about  that  van  was  mortal, 
bar  the  horses.  Some  gen'leman  (as  well  as  I  could 
make  out)  had  given  the  van  man  a  sov ;  and  so  that 
was  where  the  trouble  come  in,  you  see.' 

'  But  what  did  he  say  ? '  gasped  Morris. 

*  I  don't  know  as  he  said  much,  sir,'  said  Bill. 
*  But  he  offered  to  fight  this  Pitman  for  a  pot  of  besr. 
He  had  lost  his  book,  too,  and  the  receipts  :  and  his 
men  were  all  as  mortal  as  himself.  Oh,  they  were 
all  like — '  and  Bill  paused  for  a  simile — '  like  lords ! 
the  superintendent  sacked  them  on  the  spot.' 

'  Oh,  come,  but  that's  not  so  bad,'  said  Morris, 
with  a  bursting  sigh.  '  He  couldn't  tell  where  he 
took  the  packing-case,  then  ?  ' 

'  Not  he,'  said  Bill,  '  nor  yet  nothink  else.' 
*And    what — what     did     Pitman     do?'    asked 
Morris. 

*  Oh,  he  went  off  with  the  barrel  in  a  four-wheeler, 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS  89 

very  trembling  like,'  replied  Bill.  '  I  don't  believe 
he's  a  gentleman  as  has  good  health.' 

*  Well,  so  the  barrel's  gone,'  said  Morris,  half  to 
himself. 

^  You  may  depend  on  that,  sir,'  returned  the 
porter.    '  But  you  had  better  see  the  superintendent.' 

^  Not  in  the  least,  it's  of  no  account,'  said  Morris. 
'  It  only  contained  specimens.'  And  he  walked 
hastily  away. 

Ensconced  once  more  in  a  hansom,  he  proceeded 
to  reconsider  his  position.  Suppose  (he  thought), 
suppose  he  should  accept  defeat  and  declare  his 
uncle's  death  at  once  ?  He  should  lose  the  tontine, 
and  with  that  the  last  hope  of  his  seven  thousand 
eight  hundred  pounds.  But  on  the  other  hand,  since 
the  shilling  to  the  hansom  cabman,  he  had  begun  to 
see  that  crime  was  expensive  in  its  course,  and  since 
the  loss  of  the  w^ater-butt,  that  it  was  uncertain  in 
its  consequences.  Quietly  at  first,  and  then  with 
growing  heat,  he  reviewed  the  advantages  of  backing 
out.  It  involved  a  loss ;  but  (come  to  think  of  it) 
no  such  great  loss  after  all ;  only  that  of  the  tontine, 
which  had  been  always  a  toss  up,  which  at  bottom  he 
had  never  really  expected.  He  reminded  himself  of 
that  eagerly ;  he  congratulated  himself  upon  his  con- 
stant moderation.     He  had  never  really  expected  the 


90  THE   WRONG  BOX 

tontine ;  he  had  never  even  very  definitely  hoped  to 
recover  his  seven  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds ; 
he  had  been  hurried  into  the  whole  thing  by  Michael's 
obvious  dishonesty.  Yes,  it  would  probably  be  better 
to  draw  back  from  this  high-flying  venture, .  settle 
back  on  the  leather  business 

*  Great  God ! '  cried  Morris,  bounding  in  the 
hansom  like  a  Jack-in-a-box.  '  I  have  not  only  not 
gained  the  tontine — I  have  lost  the  leather  business ! ' 

Such  was  the  monstrous  fact.  He  had  no  power  to 
sign  ;  he  could  not  draw  a  checque  for  thirty  shillings  ; 
until  he  could  produce  legal  evidence  of  his  uncle's 
death,  he  was  a  penniless  outcast — and  as  soon  as  he 
produced  it  he  had  lost  the  tontine !  There  was  no 
hesitation  on  the  part  of  Morris  ;  to  drop  the  tontine 
like  a  hot  chestnut,  to  concentrate  all  his  forces  on 
the  leather  business  and  the  rest  of  his  small  but 
legitimate  inheritance,  was  the  decision  of  a  single 
instant.  And  the  next,  the  full  extent  of  his  calamity 
was  suddenly  disclosed  to  him.  Declare  his  uncle's 
death  ?  He  couldn't !  Since  the  body  was  lost 
Joseph  had  (in  a  legal  sense)  become  immortal. 

There  was  no  created  vehicle  big  enough  to 
contain  Morris  and  his  woes.  He  paid  the  hansom 
off  and  walked  on  he  knew  not  whither. 

*  I  seem  to  have  gone  into  this  business  with  too 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS  91 

much  precipitation,'  he  reflected,  with  a  deadly  sigh. 
'  I  fear  it  seems  too  ramified  for  a  person  of  my 
powers  of  mind.' 

And  then  a  remark  of  his  uncle's  flashed  into  his 
memory  :  If  you  want  to  think  clearly,  put  it  all  down 
on  paper.  '  Well,  the  old  boy  knew  a  thing  or  two,' 
said  Morris.  '  I  will  try ;  but  I  don't  believe  the 
paper  was  ever  made  that  will  clear  my  mind.' 

He  entered  a  place  of  public  entertainment, 
ordered  bread  and  cheese,  and  writing  materials,  and 
sat  down  before  them  heavily.  He  tried  the  pen ;  it 
was  an  excellent  pen,  but  what  was  he  to  write  ? 
'  I  have  it,'  cried  Morris.  '  Robinson  Crusoe  and  the 
double  columns  ! '  He  prepared  his  paper  after  that 
classic  model  and  began  as  follows  : 

Bad.  Good. 

1.  I  have  lost  my  uncle's  body.       1.  But  then  Pitman  has  found 

it. 

'  Stop  a  bit,'  said  Morris,  '  I  am  letting  the  spirit 
of  antithesis  run  away  with  me.      Let's  start  again.' 

Bad.  Good. 

1.  I  have  lost  my  uncle's  body.       1.  But  then  I  no  longer  require 

to  bury  it. 

2.  I  have  lost  the  tontine.  2.  But  I  may  still  save  that  if 

Pitman  disposes  of  the 
body,  and  if  I  can  find  a 
physician  who  will  stick 
at  nothing-. 


92  THE   WRONG  BOX 

3.  I  have  lost  the  leather  busi-      3.  But  not  if  Pitman  gives  the 
ness  and  the  rest  of  my  body  up  to  the  police, 

uncle's  succession. 

*  Oh,  but  in  that  case  I  go  to  jail  ;  I  had  forgot 
that,'  thought  Morris.  *  Indeed,  I  don't  know  that 
I  had  better  dwell  on  that  hypothesis  at  all ;  it's  all 
very  well  to  talk  of  faciug  the  worst ;  but  in  a  case 
of  this  kind,  a  man's  first  duty  is  to  his  own  nerve. 
Is  there  any  answer  to  No.  3  ?  Is  there  any  possible 
good  side  to  such  a  beastly  bungle  ?  There  must  be, 
of  course,  or  where  would  be  the  use  of  this  double- 
entry  business  ?  And— by  George,  I  have  it ! '  he 
exclaimed ;  *  it's  exactly  the  same  as  the  last ! ' 
And  he  hastily  rewrote  the  passage. 

Bad.  Good. 

3.  I  liave  lost  the  lea^^her  busi-       3.  But  not  if  I  can  find  a  phy- 

ness  and  the  rest  of  my  sician  who  will  stick  at 

uncle's  succession.  nothing. 

'  This  venal  doctor  seems  quite  a  desideratum,'  he 
reflected.  *  I  want  him  first  to  give  me  a  certificate 
that  my  uncle  is  dead,  so  that  I  may  get  the  leather 
business;  and  then  that  he's  alive— but  here  we 
are  again  at  the  incompatible  interests ! '  And  he 
returned  to  his  tabulation. 

Bad.  Good. 

4.  I  have  almost  no  m.ney.  4.  But  there  is  plenty  in  the 

bank. 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS 


93 


Yes,  but  I  can't  get  the 
money  in  the  bank. 

I  have  left  the  bill  for  eight 
hundred  pounds  in  Uncle 
Joseph "s  pocket. 


7.  Yes,  but  if  Pitman  is  dishon- 

est and  finds  the  bill,  he 
will  know  who  Joseph  is, 
and  he  may  blackmail  me. 

8.  But  I  can't  blackmail  Michael 

(which  is,  besides,  a  very 
dangerous  thing  to  do) 
until  I  find  out. 

9.  The  leather    business   will 

soon  want  money  for  cur- 
rent expenses,  and  I  have 
none  to  give. 

10.  Yes,  but  it's  all  the  ship  I 

have. 

11.  John  will  soon  want  money, 

and  I  have  none  to  give. 

12.  And  the  venal  doctor  will 

want  money  down. 

13.  And  if  Pitman  is  dishonest 

and  don't  send  me  to  jail, 
he  will  want  a  fortune. 


5.  But — well,   that  seems  un- 

happily to  be  the  case. 

6.  But  if  Pitman  is  only  a  dis- 

honest man,  the  presence 
of  this  bill  may  lead  him 
to  keep  the  whole  thing 
dark  and  throw  the  body 
into  the  New  Cut. 

7.  Yes,  but  if  T  am  right  about 

Uncle  Masterman,  I  can 
blackmail  Michael. 

8.  Worse  luck ! 


But  the  leather  business  is 
a  sinking  ship. 


10.  A  fact. 


11. 


12. 


13. 


'Oh,  this  seems  to  be  a  very  one-sided  business,' 
exclaimed  Morris.  '  There's  not  so  much  in  this 
method  as  I  was  led  to  think.'  He  crumpled  the 
paper  up  and  threw  it  down  ;  and  then,  the  next 
moment,  picked  it  up  again  and  ran  it  over.  '  It 
seems  it's  on  the  financial  point  that  my  position  is 


94  THE   WRONG  BOX 

weakest/  he  reflected.  '  Is  there  positively  no  way 
of  raising  the  wind  ?  In  a  vast  city  like  this,  and 
surrounded  by  all  the  resources  of  civilisation,  it 
seems  not  to  be  conceived !  Let  us  have  no  more 
precipitation.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  sell  ?  My 
collection  of  signet — '  But  at  the  thought  of  scatter- 
ing these  beloved  treasures,  the  blood  leaped  into 
Morris's  cheek.  '  I  would  rather  die ! '  he  exclaimed, 
and  cramming  his  hat  upon  his  head,  strode  forth 
into  the  streets. 

*  I  must  raise  funds,'  he  thought.  *  My  uncle  being 
dead,  the  money  in  the  bank  is  mine,  or  would  be  mine, 
but  for  the  cursed  injustice  that  has  pursued  me  ever 
since  I  was  an  orphan  in  a  commercial  academy.  I 
know  what  any  other  man  would  do ;  any  other  man  in 
Christendom  would  forge ;  although  I  don't  know 
why  I  call  it  forging,  either,  when  Joseph's  dead, 
and  the  funds  are  my  own.  When  I  think  of  that, 
when  I  think  that  my  uncle  is  really  as  dead  as 
mutton,  and  that  I  can't  prove  it,  my  gorge  rises  at 
the  injustice  of  the  whole  affair.  I  used  to  feel 
bitterly  about  that  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds ;  it  seems  a  trifle  now  !  Dear  me,  why,  the 
day  before  yesterday  I  was  comparatively  happy.' 

And  Morris  stood  on  the  sidewalk  and  heaved 
another  sobbing  sigh. 


THE    TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS  95 

^  Then  there's  another  thing,'  he  resumed ;  '  can 
I  ?  Am  I  able  ?  Why  didn't  I  practise  different 
handwritings  while  I  was  young?  How  a  fellow 
regrets  those  lost  opportunities  when  he  grows  up  ! 
But  there's  one  comfort :  it's  not  morally  wrong ;  I 
can  try  it  on  with  a  clear  conscience,  and  even 
if  I  was  found  out,  I  wouldn't  greatly  care — morally, 
I  mean.  And  then,  if  I  succeed,  and  if  Pitman  is 
staunch — there's  nothing  to  do  but  find  a  venal 
doctor ;  and  that  ought  to  be  simple  enough  in  a 
place  like  London.  By  all  accounts  the  town's  alive 
with  them.  It  wouldn't  do,  of  course,  to  advertise 
for  a  corrupt  physician ;  that  would  be  impolitic. 
No,  I  suppose  a  fellow  has  simply  to  spot  along  the 
streets  for  a  red  lamp  and  herbs  in  the  window,  and 
then  you  go  in  and — and — and  put  it  to  him  plainly ; 
though  it  seems  a  delicate  step.' 

He  was  near  home  now,  after  many  devious 
wanderings,  and  turned  up  John  Street.  As  he 
thrust  his  latch-key  in  the  lock,  another  mortifying 
reflection  struck  him  to  the  heart. 

'  Not  even  this  house  is  niine  till  I  can  prove 
him  dead,'  he  snarled,  and  slammed  the  door  behind 
him  so  that  the  windows  in  the  attic  rattled. 

Night  had  long  fallen ;  long  ago  the  lamps  and 
the  shop-fronts  had  begun  to  glitter  down  the  end- 


96  THE    WRONG  BOX 

less  streets ;  the  lobby  was  pitch-dark  ;  and,  as  the 
devil  would  have  it,  Morris  barked  liis  shins  and 
sprawled  all  his  length  over  the  pedestal  of  Hercules. 
The  pain  was  sharp ;  his  temper  was  already 
thoroughly  undermined  ;  by  a  last  misfortune  his 
hand  closed  on  the  hammer  as  he  fell;  and,  in  a 
spasm  of  childish  irritation,  he  turned  and  struck 
at  the  offending  statue.  There  was  a  splintering 
crash. 

*  Oh  Lord,  what  have  I  done  next  ? '  wailed 
Morris;  and  he  groped  his  way  to  find  a  candle. 
*  Yes,*  he  reflected,  as  he  stood  with  the  light  in  his 
hand  and  looked  upon  the  mutilated  leg,  from  which 
about  a  pound  of  muscle  was  detached.  *  Yes,  I 
have  destroyed  a  genuine  antique ;  I  may  be  in  for 
thousands ! '  And  then  there  sprung  up  in  his 
bosom  a  sort  of  angry  hope.  *  Let  me  see,'  he 
thought.  'Julia's  got  rid  of;  there's  nothing  to 
connect  me  with  that  beast,  Forsyth ;  the  men  were 
all  drunk,  and  (what's  better)  they've  been  all  dis- 
charged. Oh,  come,  I  think  this  is  another  case  for 
moral  courage !  I'll  deny  all  knowledge  of  the 
thing.' 

A  moment  more,  and  he  stood  again  before  the 
Hercules,  his  lips  sternly  compressed,  the  coal-axe 
and  the  meat  cleaver  under  his  arm.     The  next,  he 


THE   TRIBULATIONS    OF  MORRIS  97 

liad  fallen  upon  the  packing-case.  This  had  been 
already  seriously  undermined  by  the  operations  of 
Gideon;  a  few  well-directed  blows,  and  it  already 
quaked  and  gaped  ;  yet  a  few  more,  and  it  fell  about 
Morris  in  a  shower  of  boards  followed  by  an  avalanche 
of  straw. 

And  now  the  leather  merchant  could  behold  the 
nature  of  his  task :  and  at  the  first  sight  his  spirit 
quailed.  It  was,  indeed,  no  more  ambitious  a  task 
for  De  Lesseps,  with  all  his  men  and  horses,  to 
attack  the  hills  of  Panama,  than  for  a  single,  slim 
young  gentleman,  with  no  previous  experience  of 
labour  in  a  quarry,  to  measure  himself  against  that 
bloated  monster  on  his  pedestal.  And  yet  the  pair 
were  well  encountered :  on  the  one  side,  bulk — on 
the  other,  genuine  heroic  fire. 

'  Down  you  shall  come,  you  great  big  ugly 
brute ! '  cried  Morris  aloud,  with  something  of  that 
passion  which  swept  the  Parisian  mob  against  the 
Avails  of  the  Bastille.  '  Down  you  shall  come,  this 
night.     I'll  have  none  of  you  in  my  lobby.' 

The  face,  from  its  indecent  expression,  had 
particularly  animated  the  zeal  of  our  iconoclast ;  and 
it  was  against  the  face  that  he  began  his  operations. 
The  great  height  of  the  demigod — for  he  stood  a 
fathona  and  half  in  his  stocking  feet — offered  a  pre- 

H 


98  THE   WRONG  BOX 


liminary  obstacle  to  this  attack.  But  here,  in  the 
first  skirmish  of  the  battle,  intellect  already  began  to 
triumph  over  matter.  By  means  of  a  pair  of  library 
steps,  the  injured  householder  gained  a  posture  of 
advantage ;  and  with  great  swipes  of  the  coal-axe, 
proceeded  to  decapitate  the  brute. 

Two  hours  later,  what  had  been  the  erect  image 
of  a  gigantic  coal-porter  turned  miraculously  white, 
was  now  no  more  than  a  medley  of  disjected  members : 
the  quadragenarian  torso  prone  against  the  pedestal ; 
the  lascivious  countenance  leering  down  the  kitchen 
stair ;  the  legs,  the  arms,  the  hands,  and  even  the 
fingers,  scattered  broadcast  on  the  lobby  floor.  Half 
an  hour  more,  and  all  the  debris  had  been  laboriously 
carted  to  the  kitchen;  and  Morris,  with  a  gentle 
sentiment  of  triumph,  looked  round  upon  the  scene 
of  his  achievements.  Yes,  he  could  deny  all  know- 
ledge of  it  now :  the  lobby,  beyond  the  fact  that  it 
was  partly  ruinous,  betrayed  no  trace  of  the  passage 
of  Hercules.  But  it  was  a  weary  Morris  that  crept 
up  to  bed ;  his  arms  and  shoulders  ached,  the  palms 
of  his  hands  burned  from  the  rough  kisses  of  the 
coal-axe,  and  there  was  one  smarting  finger  that 
stole  continually  to  his  mouth.  Sleep  long  delayed 
to  visit  the  dilapidated  hero,  and  with  the  first  peep 
of  day  it  had  again  deserted  him. 


THE    TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS  99 

The  morning,  as  though  to  accord  with  his  disas- 
trous fortunes,  dawned  inclemently.  An  easterly 
gale  was  shouting  in  the  streets ;  flaws  of  rain  angrily 
assailed  the  windows ;  and  as  Morris  dressed,  the 
draught  from  the  fireplace  vividly  played  about  his 
legs. 

'  I  think,'  he  could  not  help  observing  bitterly, 
'•  that  with  all  I  have  to  bear,  they  might  have  given 
me  decent  weather.' 

There  was  no  bread  in  the  house,  for  Miss  Hazel- 
tine  (like  all  women  left  to  themselves)  had  subsisted 
entirely  upon  cake.  But  some  of  this  was  found,  and 
(along  with  what  the  poets  call  a  glass  of  fair,  cold 
water)  made  up  a  semblance  of  a  morning  meal,  and 
then  down  he  sat  undauntedly  to  his  delicate  task. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  study 
of  signatures,  written  (as  they  are)  before  meals  and 
after,  during  indigestion  and  intoxication ;  written 
when  the  signer  is  trembling  for  the  life  of  his  child, 
or  has  come  from  winning  the  Derby,  in  his  lawyer's 
office,  or  under  the  bright  eyes  of  his  sweetheart.  To 
the  vulgar,  these  seem  never  the  same ;  but  to  the 
expert,  the  bank  clerk,  or  the  lithographer,  they  are 
constant  quantities  and  as  recognisable  as  the  North 
Star  to  the  night-watch  on  deck. 

To  all  this  Morris  was  alive.     In  the  theory  of 

H  2 


loo  THE    WRONG  BOX 

that  graceful  art  in  which  he  was  now  embarking, 
our  spirited  leather  merchant  was  beyond  all  re- 
proach.s  But  happily  for  the  investor,  forgery  is  an 
affair  of  practice.  And  as  Morris  sat  surrounded  by 
examples  of  his  uncle*s  signature,  and  his  own  in- 
competence, insidious  depression  stole  upon  his 
spirits.  From  time  to  time  the  wind  wuthered  in 
the  chimney  at  his  back ;  from  time  to  time  there 
swept  over  Bloomsbury  a  squall  so  dark  that  he  must 
rise  and  light  the  gas ;  about  him  was  the  chill  and 
the  mean  disorder  of  a  house  out  of  commission — the 
floor  bare,  the  sofa  heaped  with  books  and  accounts 
enveloped  in  a  dirty  table-cloth,  the  pens  rusted, 
the  paper  glazed  with  a  thick  film  of  dust ;  and  yet 
these  were  but  adminicles  of  misery,  and  the  true 
root  of  his  depression  lay  round  him  on  the  table  in 
the  shape  of  misbegotten  forgeries. 

'  It's  one  of  the  strangest  things  I  ever  heard  of,' 
he  complained.  *  It  almost  seems  as  if  it  was  a  talent 
that  I  didn't  possess.'  He  went  once  more  minutely 
through  his  proof's.  '  A  clerk  would  simply  gibe  at 
them,'  said  he.  *  Well,  there's  nothing  else  but 
tracing  possible.' 

He  waited  till  a  squall  had  passed  and  there  came 
a  blink  of  scowling  daylight.  Then  he  went  to  the 
window,  and  in  the  face  of  all  John  Street  traced  hisj 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         loi 

uncle's  signature.  It  was  a  poor  thing  at  the  best. 
'  But  it  must  do,'  said  he,  as  he  stood  gazing  wofully 
on  his  handiwork.  '  He's  dead  anyway.'  And  he 
filled  up  the  cheque  for  a  couple  of  hundred  and 
sallied  forth  for  the  Anglo-Patagonian  Bank. 

There,  at  the  desk  at  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
transact  business,  and  with  as  much  indifference  as 
he  could  assume,  Morris  presented  the  forged  cheque 
to  the  big,  red-bearded  Scots  teller.  The  teller 
seemed  to  view  it  with  surprise ;  and  as  he  turned  it 
this  way  and  that,  and  even  scrutinised  the  signature 
with  a  magnifying  glass,  his  surprise  appeared  to 
warm  into  disfavour.  Begging  to  be  excused  for  a 
moment,  he  passed  away  into  the  rearmost  quarters 
of  the  bank ;  whence,  after  an  appreciable  interval, 
he  returned  again  in  earnest  talk  with  a  superior,  an 
oldish  and  a  baldish,  but  a  very  gentlemanly  man. 

'  Mr.  Morris  Finsbury,  I  believe,'  said  the  gentle- 
manly man,  fixing  Morris  with  a  pair  of  double  eye- 
glasses. 

*  That  is  my  name,'  said  Morris,  quavering.  '  Is 
there  anything  wrong  ?  ' 

'  Well,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Finsbury,  you  see  we  are 
rather  surprised  at  receiving  this,'  said  the  other, 
flicking  at  the  cheque.     '  There  are  no  effects.' 

^  No  effects  ?  '  cried  Morris.    '  Why,  I  know  myself 


I02  THE    WRONG  BOX 

there  must  be  eight  and  twenty  hundred  pounds,  if 
there's  a  penny.' 

'  Two  seven  six  four,  I  think,'  replied  the  gentle- 
manly man ;  '  but  it  was  drawn  yesterday.' 

'  Drawn ! '  cried  Morris. 

*  By  your  uncle  himself,  sir,'  continued  the  other. 
'  Not  only  that,  but  we  discounted  a  bill  for  him  for 
— let  me  see — how  much  was  it  for,  Mr.  Bell  ?  ' 

*  Eight  hundred,  Mr.  Judkin,'  replied  the  teller. 

*  Dent  Pitman ! '  cried  Morris,  staggering  back. 

*  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  Mr.  Judkin. 

'  It's — it's  only  an  expletive,'  said  Morris. 

*  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong,  Mr.  Finsbury,' 
said  Mr.  Bell. 

*  All  I  can  tell  you,'  said  Morris,  with  a  harsh 
laugh,  *is  that  the  whole  thing's  impossible.  My 
uncle  is  at  Bournemouth,  unable  to  move.' 

'-  Really ! '  cried  Mr.  Bell,  and  he  recovered  the 
cheque  from  IMr.  Judkin.  *  But  this  cheque  is  dated 
in  London,  and  to-day,'  he  observed.  *How  d'ye 
account  for  that,  sir  ?  ' 

*  Oh,  that  was  a  mistake,'  said  Morris,  and  a  deep 
tide  of  colour  dyed  his  face  and  neck. 

*  No  doubt,  no  doubt,'  said  Mr.  Judkin,  but  he 
looked  at  his  customer  inquiringly. 

'  And—  and — '  resumed  Morris,  '  even   if  there 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         103 

were  no  effects — this  is  a  very  trifling  sum  to  over- 
draw— our  firm — the  name  of  Finsbury  is  surely 
good  enough  for  such  a  wretched  sum  as  this.' 

'  No  doubt,  Mr.  Finsbury/  returned  Mr.  Judkin ; 
'  and  if  you  insist  I  will  take  it  into  consideration ; 
but  I  hardly  think — in  short,  Mr.  Finsbury,  if  there 
had  been  nothing  else,  the  signature  seems  hardly  all 
that  we  could  wish.' 

'  That's  of  no  consequence,'  replied  Morris  ner- 
vously, '  I'll  get  my  uncle  to  sign  another.  The  fact 
is,'  he  went  on,  with  a  bold  stroke,  '  my  uncle  is  so 
far  from  well  at  present  that  he  was  unable  to  sign 
this  cheque  without  assistance,  and  I  fear  that  my 
holding  the  pen  for  him  may  have  made  the  difference 
in  the  signature.' 

Mr.  Judkin  shot  a  keen  glance  into  Morris's  face ; 
and  then  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Bell. 

'  Well,'  he  said,  '  it  seems  as  if  we  have  been 
victimised  by  a  swindler.  Pray  tell  Mr.  Finsbury 
we  shall  put  detectives  on  at  once.  As  for  this 
cheque  of  yours,  I  regret  that,  owing  to  the  way  it 
was  signed,  the  bank  can  hardly  consider  it — what 
shall  I  say?— business-like,'  and  he  returned  the 
cheque  across  the  counter. 

Morris  took  it  up  mechanically ;  he  was  thinking 
of  something  very  different. 


lo4  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  In  a  case  of  this  kind,'  he  began,  *  I  believe  the 
loss  falls  on  us ;  I  mean  upon  my  uncle  and  myself.' 

*  It  does  not,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Bell,  *  the  bank  is 
responsible,  and  the  bank  will  either  recover  the 
money  or  refund  it,  you  may  depend  on  that.' 

Morris's  face  fell ;  then  it  was  visited  by  another 
gleam  of  hope. 

*  I'll  tell  you  what,'  he  said,  *  you  leave  this 
entirely  in  my  hands.  I'll  sift  the  matter.  I've  an 
idea,  at  any  rate ;  and  detectives,'  he  added  appeal- 
ingly,  *  are  so  expensive.' 

'  The  bank  would  not  hear  of  it,'  returned  Mr. 
Judkin.  *  The  bank  stands  to  lose  between  three 
and  four  thousand  pounds;  it  will  spend  as  much 
more  if  necessary.  An  undiscovered  forger  is  a 
permanent  danger.  We  shall  clear  it  up  to  the 
bottom,  Mr.  Finsbury;  set  your  mind  at  rest  on 
that.* 

*Then  I'll  stand  the  loss,'  said  Morris  boldly. 
*  I  order  you  to  abandon  the  search.'  He  was 
determined  that  no  inquiry  should  be  made. 

*  I  beg  your  pardon,'  returned  Mr.  Judkin,  *  but 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  you  in  this  matter,  which 
is  one  between  your  uncle  and  ourselves.  If  he 
should  take  this  opinion,  and  will  either  come  here 
himself  or  will  let  me  see  him  in  his  sick-room ' 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         105 

*  Quite  impossible,'  cried  Morris. 

'  Well  then,  you  see,'  said  Mr.  Judkin,  '  how  my 
hands  are  tied.  The  whole  affair  must  go  at  once 
into  the  hands  of  the  police.' 

Morris  mechanically  folded  the  cheque  and  re- 
stored it  to  his  pocket-book. 

'  Good-morning,'  said  he,  and  scrambled  some- 
how out  of  the  bank. 

^  I  don't  know  what  they  suspect,'  he  reflected, 
*  I  can't  make  them  out,  their  whole  behaviour  is 
thoroughly  unbusiness-like.  But  it  doesn't  matter  : 
all's  up  with  everything.  The  money  has  been  paid ; 
the  police  are  on  the  scent ;  in  two  hours  that  idiot 
Pitman  will  be  nabbed — and  the  whole  story  of  the 
dead  body  in  the  evening  papers.' 

If  he  could  have  heard  what  passed  in  the  bank 
after  his  departure,  he  would  have  been  less  alarmed, 
perhaps  more  mortified. 

*  That  was  a  curious  affair,  Mr.  Bell,'  said  Mr. 
Judkin. 

'  Yes,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Bell,  '  but  I  think  we  have 
given  him  a  fright.' 

'  Oh,  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  Mr.  Morris  Fins- 
bury,'  returned  the  other ;  '  it  was  a  first  attempt, 
and  the  house  have  dealt  with  us  so  long  that  I  was 
anxious  to  deal  gently.     But  I  suppose,  Mr.  Bell, 


io6  THE    WRONG  BOX 

there  can  be  no  mistake  about  yesterday  ?  It  was 
old  Mr.  Finsbury  himself  ? ' 

*  There  could  be  no  possible  doubt  of  that,'  said 
Mr.  Bell  with  a  chuckle.  *  He  explained  to  me  the 
principles  of  banking.' 

'  Well,  well,'  said  Mr.  Judkin.  '  The  next  time 
he  calls,  ask  him  to  step  into  my  room.  It  is  only 
proper  he  should  be  warned.' 


107 


CHAPTER   VII 

IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT  PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL 
ADVICE 

Norfolk  Street,  Xing's  Road — jocularly  known 
among  Mr.  Pitman's  lodgers  as  '  Norfolk  Island  ' — is 
neither  a  long,  a  handsome,  nor  a  pleasing  thorough- 
fare. Dirty,  undersized  maids-of-all  work  issue  from 
it  in  pursuit  of  beer,  or  linger  on  its  sidewalk  listen- 
ing to  the  voice  of  love.  The  cat's-meat  man  passes 
twice  a  day.  An  occasional  organ-grinder  wanders 
in  and  wanders  out  again,  disgusted.  In  holiday 
time  the  street  is  the  arena  of  the  young  bloods  of 
the  neighbourhood,  and  the  householders  have  an 
opportunity  of  studying  the  manly  art  of  self-defence. 
And  yet  Norfolk  Street  has  one  claim  to  be  respect- 
able, for  it  contains  not  a  single  shop — unless  you 
count  the  public-house  at  the  corner,  which  is  really 
in  the  King's  Road. 

The  door  of  No.  7  bore  a  brass  plate  inscribed 


io8  THE    WRONG  BOX 

with  the  legend  '  W.  D.  Pitman,  Artist.'  It  was 
not  a  particularly  clean  brass  plate,  nor  was  No.  7 
itself  a  particularly  inviting  place  of  residence.  And 
yet  it  had  a  character  of  its  own,  such  as  may  well 
quicken  the  pulse  of  the  reader's  curiosity.  For  here 
was  the  home  of  an  artist — and  a  distinguished 
artist  too,  highly  distinguished  by  his  ill- success — 
which  had  never  been  made  the  subject  of  an  article 
in  the  illustrated  magazines.  No  wood-engraver 
had  ever  reproduced  '  a  comer  in  the  back  drawing- 
room  '  or  *  the  studio  mantelpiece '  of  No.  7  ;  no 
young  lady  author  had  ever  commented  on  '  the  un- 
affected simplicity '  with  which  Mr.  Pitman  received 
her  in  the  midst  of  his  '  treasures.'  It  is  an  omission 
I  would  gladly  supply,  but  our  business  is  only  with 
the  backward  parts  and  *  abject  rear  '  of  this  aDsthetic 
dwelling. 

Here  was  a  garden,  boasting  a  dwarf  fountain 
(that  never  played)  in  the  centre,  a  few  grimy- 
looking  flowers  in  pots,  two  or  three  newly-planted 
trees  which  the  spring  of  Chelsea  visited  without 
noticeable  consequence,  and  two  or  three  statues 
after  the  antique,  representing  satyrs  and  nymphs  in 
the  worst  possible  style  of  sculptured  art.  On  one 
side,  the  garden  was  over-shadowed  by  a  pair  of 
crazy  studios,  usually  hired  out  to  the  more  obscure 


PITMAN  TAKES   LEGAL  ADVICE  109 

and  youthful  practitioners  of  British  art.  Opposite 
these  another  lofty  out-building,  somewhat  more 
carefully  finished,  and  boasting  of  a  communication 
with  the  house  and  a  private  door  on  the  back  lane, 
enshrined  the  multifarious  industry  of  Mr.  Pitman. 
All  day,  it  is  true,  he  was  engaged  in  the  work  of 
education  at  a  seminary  for  young  ladies  ;  but  the 
evenings  at  least  were  his  own,  and  these  he  would 
prolong  far  into  the  night,  now  dashing  ofT^  land- 
scape  ivith  tvaterfall  in  oil.  now  a  volunteer  bust  ('  in 
marble,'  as  he  would  gently  but  proudly  observe)  of 
some  public  character,  now  stooping  his  chisel  to  a 
mere  iiymph  ( '  for  a  gas-bracket  on  a  stair,  sir  '),  or 
a  life-size  Infant  Samuel  for  a  religious  nursery. 
Mr.  Pitman  had  studied  in  Paris,  and  he  had  studied 
in  Kome,  supplied  with  funds  by  a  fond  parent  who 
went  subsequently  bankrupt,  in  consequence  of  a 
fall  in  corsets  ;  and  though  he  was  never  thought  to 
have  the  smallest  modicum  of  talent,  it  was  at  one 
time  supposed  that  he  had  learned  his  business. 
Eighteen  years  of  what  is  called  '  tuition '  had 
relieved  him  of  the  dangerous  knowledge.  His  artist 
lodgers  vrould  sometimes  reason  with  him ;  they 
would  point  out  to  him  how  impossible  it  was  to  paint 
by  gas-light,  or  to  sculpture  life-sized  nymphs  with- 
out a  model. 


HO  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  I  know  that,'  he  would  reply.  ^  No  one  in 
Norfolk  Street  knows  it  better ;  and  if  I  were  rich  I 
should  certainly  employ  the  best  models  in  London  ; 
but  being  poor,  I  have  taught  myself  to  do  without 
them.  An  occasional  model  would  only  disturb  my 
ideal  conception  of  the  figure,  and  be  a  positive 
impediment  in  my  career.  As  for  painting  by  an 
artificial  light/  he  would  continue,  '  that  is  simply  a 
knack  I  have  found  it  necessary  to  acquire,  my  days 
being  engrossed  in  the  work  of  tuition.' 

At  the  moment  when  we  must  present  him  to  our 
readers.  Pitman  was  in  his  studio  alone,  by  the  dying 
light  of  the  October  day.  He  sat  (sure  enough  with 
*  unaffected  simplicity  ')  in  a  Windsor  chair,  his  low- 
crowned  black  felt  hat  by  his  side ;  a  dark,  weak, 
harmless,  pathetic  little  man,  clad  in  the  hue  of 
mourning,  his  coat  longer  than  is  usual  with  the 
laity,  his  neck  enclosed  in  a  collar  without  a  parting, 
his  neckcloth  pale  in  hue  and  simply  tied ;  the  whole 
outward  man,  except  for  a  pointed  beard,  tentatively 
clerical.  There  was  a  thinning  on  the  top  of 
Pitman's  head,  there  were  silver  hairs  at  Pitman's 
temple.  Poor  gentleman,  he  was  no  longer  young ; 
and  years,  and  poverty,  and  humble  ambition 
thwarted,  make  a  cheerless  lot. 

In  front  of  him,  in  the  corner  by  the  door,  there 


PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE         iii 

stood  a  portly  barrel ;  and  let  him  turn  them  where 
he  might,  it  was  always  to  the  barrel  that  his  eyes 
and  his  thoughts  returned. 

^  Should  I  open  it  ?  Should  I  return  it  ?  Should 
I  communicate  with  Mr.  Semitopolis  at  once  ?  '  he 
wondered.  'No,'  he  concluded  finally,  'nothing 
without  Mr.  Finsbury's  advice.'  And  he  arose  and 
produced  a  shabby  leathern  desk.  It  opened  with- 
out the  formality  of  unlocking,  and  displayed  the 
thick  cream-coloured  note  paper  on  which  Mr.  Pit- 
man was  in  the  habit  of  communicating  with  the 
proprietors  of  schools  and  the  parents  of  his 
pupils.  He  placed  the  desk  on  the  table  by  the 
window,  and  taking  a  saucer  of  Indian  ink  from 
the  chimney-piece,  laboriously  composed  the  fol- 
lowing letter : 

'My  dear  Mr.  Finsbury,'  it  ran,  'would  it  be 
presuming  on  your  kindness  if  I  asked  you  to  pay  me  a 
visit  here  this  evening  ?  It  is  in  no  trifling  matter 
that  I  invoke  your  valuable  assistance,  for  need  I  say 
more  than  it  concerns  the  welfare  of  Mr.  Semitopolis's 
statue  of  Hercules  ?  I  write  you  in  great  agitation 
of  mind ;  for  I  have  made  all  inquiries,  and  greatly 
fear  that  this  work  of  ancient  art  has  been  mislaid. 
I  labour  besides  under  another  perplexity,  not  un- 
connected with  the^^first.  Pray  excuse  the  inelegance 


THE    WRONG  BOX 


of  this  scrawl,  and  believe  me  yours  in  liaste,  William 
D.  Pitman.' 

Armed  with  this  he  set  forth  and  rang  the  bell  of 
No.  233  King'sRoad,  the  private  residence  of 
Michael  Finsburj.  He  had  met  the  lawyer  at  a 
time  of  great  public  excitement  in  Chelsea ;  Michael, 
who  had  a  sense  of  humour  and  a  great  deal  of  care- 
less kindness  in  his  nature,  followed  the  acquaintance 
up,  and  having  come  to  laugh,  remained  to  drop  into 
a  contemptuous  kind  of  friendship.  By  this  time, 
which  was  four  years  after  the  first  meeting.  Pitman 
was  the  lawyer's  dog. 

*  No,'  said  the  elderly  housekeeper  who  opened 
the  door  in  person,  '  Mr.  Michael's  not  in  yet.  But 
ye're  looking  terribly  poorly,  Mr.  Pitman.  Take  a 
glass  of  sherry,  sir,  to  cheer  ye  up.' 

^  No,  I  thank  you,  ma'am,'  replied  the  artist. 
'  It  is  very  good  in  you,  but  I  scarcely  feel  in  suffi- 
cient spirits  for  sherry.  Just  give  Mr.  Finsbury  this 
note,  and  ask  him  to  look  round — to  the  door  in  the 
lane,  you  will  please  tell  him  ;  I  shall  be  in  the 
studio  all  evening.' 

And  he  turned  again  into  the  street  and  walked 
slowly  homeward.  A  hair-dresser's  window  canght 
his  attention,  and  he  stared  long  and  earnestly  at  the 
proud,  high-bom,  waxen  lady  in  evening  dress,  who 


PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE         113 

circulated  in  the  centre  of  the  show.    The  artist  woke 
in  him,  in  spite  of  his  troubles. 

'  It  is  all  very  well  to  run  down  the  men  who 
make  these  things,'  he  cried,  '  but  there's  a  some- 
thing— there's  a  haughty,  indefinable  something 
about  that  figure.  It's  what  I  tried  for  in  my 
Empress  Eugenie,^  he  added,  with  a  sigh. 

And  he  went  home  reflecting  on  the  quality. 
'  They  don't  teach  you  that  direct  appeal  in  Paris,' 
he  thought.  '  It's  British.  Come,  I  am  going  to 
sleep,  I  must  wake  up,  I  must  aim  higher — aim 
higher,'  cried  the  little  artist  to  himself.  All 
through  his  tea  and  afterward,  as  he  was  giving  his 
eldest  boy  a  lesson  on  the  fiddle,  his  mind  dwelt  no 
longer  on  his  troubles,  but  he  was  rapt  into  the 
better  land ;  and  no  sooner  was  he  at  liberty  than 
he  hastened  with  positive  exhilaration  to  his  studio. 

Not  even  the  sight  of  the  barrel  could  entirely 
cast  him  down.  He  flung  himself  with  rising  zest 
into  his  work — a  bust  of  Mr.  Gladstone  from  a  photo- 
graph ;  turned  (with  extraordinary  success)  the 
difficulty  of  the  back  of  the  head,  for  which  he  had 
no  documents  beyond  a  hazy  recollection  of  a  public 
meeting ;  delighted  himself  by  his  treatment  of  the 
collar ;  and  was  only  recalled  to  the  cares  of  life  by 
Michael  Finsbury's  rattle  at  the  door. 

1 


114  THE    WRONG  BOX 

'  Well,  what's  wrong  ? '  said  Michael,  advancing 
to  the  grate,  where,  knowing  his  friend's  delight 
in  a  bright  fire,  Mr.  Pitman  had  not  spared  the 
fuel.  'I  suppose  you  have  come  to  grief  some- 
how.' 

'  There  is  no  expression  strong  enough,'  said  the 
artist.  *  Mr.  Semitopolis's  statue  has  not  turned 
up,  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  answerable  for  the 
money ;  but  I  think  nothing  of  that — what  I  fear, 
my  dear  Mr.  Finsbur}-,  what  I  fear — alas  that  I 
should  have  to  say  it ! — is  exposure.  The  Hercules 
was  to  be  smuggled  out  of  Italy  ;  a  thing  positively 
wrong,  a  thing  of  which  a  man  of  my  principles  and 
in  my  responsible  position  should  have  taken  (as  I 
now  see  too  late)  no  part  whatever.' 

*  This  sounds  like  very  serious  work,'  said  the 
lawyer.  '  It  will  require  a  great  deal  of  drink, 
Pitman.' 

*  I  took  the  liberty  of — in  short,  of  being  pre- 
pared for  you,' replied  the  artist,  pointing  to  a  kettle, 
a  bottle  of  gin,  a  lemon,  and  glasses. 

Michael  mixed  himself  a  grog,  and  offered  the 
artist  a  cigar. 

*  No,  thank  you,'  said  Pitman.  '  I  used  occasion- 
ally to  be  rather  partial  to  it,  but  the  smell  is  so 
disaofreeable  about  the  clothes.' 


PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE  115 

'  All  riglit,'  said  the  lawyer.  '  I  am  comfortable 
now.     Unfold  your  tale.' 

At  some  length.  Pitman  set  forth  his  sorrows. 
He  had  gone  to-day  to  Waterloo,  expecting  to 
receive  the  colossal  Hercules,  and  he  had  received 
instead  a  barrel  not  big  enough  to  hold  Discobolus  ; 
yet  the  barrel  was  addressed  in  the  hand  (with  which 
he  was  perfectly  acquainted)  of  his  Eoman  corre- 
spondent. What  was  stranger  still,  a  case  had 
arrived  by  the  same  train,  large  enough  and  heavy 
enough  to  contain  the  Hercules  ;  and  this  case  had 
been  taken  to  an  address  now  undiscoverable.  '  The 
van  man  (I  regret  to  say  it)  had  been  drinking, 
and  his  language  was  such  as  I  could  never  bring 
myself  to  repeat.  He  was  at  once  discharged  by 
the  superintendent  of  the  line,  who  behaved  most 
properly  throughout  and  is  to  make  inquiries  at 
Southampton.  In  the  meanwhile,  what  was  I  to 
do  ?  I  left  my  address  and  brought  the  barrel 
home ;  but  remembering  an  old  adage,  I  deter- 
mined not  to  open  it  except  in  the  presence  of  my 
lawyer.' 

'  Is  that  ail  ?  '  asked  Michael.  ^  I  don't  see  any 
cause  to  worry.  The  Hercules  has  stuck  upon  the 
road.  It  will  drop  in  to-morrow  or  the  day  after ; 
and  as  for  the  barrel,  depend  upon  it,  it's  a  testi- 

I  2 


ii6  THE   WRONG  BOX 

monial  from  one  of  your  young  ladies,  and  probably 
contains  oysters.' 

*  Oh,  don't  speak  so  loud ! '  cried  the  little  artist. 

*  It  would  cost  me  my  place  if  I  were  heard  to  speak 
lightly  of  the  young  ladies,  and  besides,  why  oysters 
from  Italy  ?  and  why  should  they  come  to  me  ad- 
dressed in  Signor  Ilicardi's  hand  ?  ' 

*  Well,   let's  have  a   look   at   it,'  said   Michael. 

*  Let's  roll  it  forward  to  the  light.' 

The  two  men  rolled  the  barrel  from  the  corner, 
and  stood  it  on  end  before  the  fire. 

'It's  heavy  enough  to  be  oysters,'  remarked 
Michael  judiciously. 

*  Shall  we  open  it  at  once  ? '  inquired  the  artist, 
who  had  grown  decidedly  cheerful  under  the  com- 
bined effects  of  company  and  gin ;  and  without  wait- 
ing for  a  reply,  he  began  to  strip  as  if  for  a  prize- 
fight, tossed  his  clerical  collar  in  the  waste-paper 
basket,  hung  liis  clerical  coat  upon  a  nail,  and  with 
a  chisel  in  one  hand  and  a  hammer  in  the  other, 
struck  the  first  blow  of  the  evening. 

'  That's  the  style,  William  Dent ! '  cried  Michael. 
'  There's  fire  for  yoiir  money  !  It  may  be  a  romantic 
visit  from  one  of  the  young  ladies — a  sort  of  Cleo- 
patra business.  Have  a  care  and  don't  stave  in 
Cleopatra's  head.' 


PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE  117 

But  the  sight  of  Pitman's  alacrity  was  infectious. 
The  lawyer  could  sit  still  no  longer.  Tossing  his 
cigar  into  the  fire,  he  snatched  the  instrument  from 
the  unwilling  hands  of  the  artist,  and  fell  to  himself. 
Soon  the  sweat  stood  in  beads  upon  his  large,  fair 
brow ;  his  stylish  trousers  were  defaced  with  iron 
rust,  and  the  state  of  his  chisel  testified  to  misdirected 
energies. 

A  cask  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  open,  even  when 
you  set  about  it  in  the  right  way ;  when  you  set 
about  it  wrongly,  the  whole  structure  must  be 
resolved  into  its  elements.  Such  was  the  course 
pursued  alike  by  the  artist  and  the  lawyer.  Pre- 
sently the  last  hoop  had  been  removed — a  couple  of 
smart  blows  tumbled  the  staves  upon  the  ground — 
and  what  had  once  been  a  barrel  was  no  more  than 
a  confused  heap  of  broken  and  distorted  boards. 

In  the  midst  of  these,  a  certain  dismal  something, 
swathed  in  blankets,  remained  for  an  instant  upright, 
and  then  toppled  to  one  side  and  heavily  collapsed 
before  the  fire.  Even  as  the  thing  subsided,  an  eye- 
glass tingled  to  the  floor  and  rolled  toward  the 
screaming  Pitman. 

'  Hold  your  tongue ! '  said  Michael.  He  dashed 
to  the  house  door  and  locked  it ;  then,  with  a  pale 
face  and    bitten  lip,  he  drew  near,  pulled  aside  a 


m8  the   wrong  box 


coraer    of    the    swathing    blanket,    and    recoiled, 
shuddering. 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  studio. 

'  Now  tell  me,'  said  Michael,  in  a  low  voice : 

*  Had  you  any  hand  in  it  ? '  and  ho  pointed  to  the 
body. 

The  little  artist  could  only  utter  broken  and  dis- 
jointed sounds. 

Michael  poured  some  gin  into  a  glass.  *  Drink 
that,'  he  said.  *  Don't  be  afraid  of  me.  I'm  your 
friend  through  thick  and  thin.' 

Pitman  put  the  liquor  down  untaated. 

*  I  swear  before  God,'  he  said,  *  this  is  another 
mystery  to  me.  In  ray  worst  fears,  I  never  dreamed 
of  such  a  thing.  I  would  not  lay  a  finger  on  a 
sucking  infant.' 

'-  That's  all  square,'  said  Michael,  with  a  sigh  of 
huge  relief.  *I  believe  you,  old  boy.'  And  he 
shook  the  artist  warmly  by  the  hand.  ^  I  thought 
for  a  moment,'  he  added  with  rather  a  ghastly  smile, 

*  I  thought  for  a  moment  you  might  have  made  away 
with  Mr.  Semitopolis.' 

'  It  would  make  no  difference  if  I  had,'  groaned 
Pitman.  *A11  is  at  an  end  for  me.  There's  the 
writing  on  the  wall.' 

'  To  begin  with,'  said  Michael,  '  let's  get  him  out 


PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE  119 

of  sight ;  for  to  be  quite  plain  with  you,  Pitman,  I 
don't  like  your  friend's  appearance.'  And  with  that 
the  lawyer  shuddered.     '  Where  can  we  put  it  ? ' 

'You  might  put  it  in  the  closet  there — if  you 
could  bear  to  touch  it,'  answered  the  artist. 

'  Somebody  has  to  do  it.  Pitman,'  returned  the 
lawyer ;  '  and  it  seems  as  if  it  had  to  be  me.  You 
go  over  to  the  table,  turn  your  back,  and  mix  me  a 
grog ;  that's  a  fair  division  of  labour.' 

About  ninety  seconds  later,  the  close  b  door  was 
heard  to  shut. 

'  There,'  observed  Michael, '  that's  more  home-like. 
You  can  turn  now,  my  palid  Pitman.  Is  this  the 
grog?'  he  ran  on.  'Heaven  forgive  you,  it's  a 
lemonade ! ' 

'  But,  oh,  Finsbury,  what  are  we  to  do  with  it  ?  '. 
wailed  the  artist,  laying  a  clutching  hand  upon  the 
lawyer's  arm. 

'  Do  with  it  ?  '  repeated  Michael.  '  Bury  it  in 
one  of  your  flower-beds,  and  erect  one  of  your  own 
statues  for  a  monument.  I  tell  you  we  should  look 
devilish  romantic  shovelling  out  the  sod  by  the  moon's 
pale  ray.     Here,  put  some  gin  in  this.' 

'  I  beg  of  you,  Mr.  Finsbury,  do  not  trifle  with 
my  misery,'  cried  Pitman.  '  You  see  before  you  a 
man  who  has  been  all  his  life — I  do  not  hesitate  to 


I20  THE    WRONG  BOX 

say  it — eminently  respectable.  Even  in  this  solemn 
hour  I  can  lay  my  hand  upon  my  heart  without  a 
blush.  Except  on  the  really  trifling  point  of  the 
smuggling  of  the  Hercules  (and  even  of  that  I  now 
humbly  repent),  my  life  has  been  entirely  fit  for 
publication.  I  never  feared  the  light,'  cried  the 
little  man  ;  *  and  now — now ! ' 

*  Cheer  up,  old  boy,'  said  Michael.  *  I  assure  you 
we  should  count  this  little  contretemps  a  trifle  at  the 
office ;  it's  the  sort  of  thing  that  may  occur  to  any- 
one ;  and  if  you're  perfectly  sure  you  had  no  hand  in 
it ' 

*  What  language  am  I  to  find — '  began  Pitman. 

*  Oh,  I'll  do  that  part  of  it,'  interrupted  Michael, 
'  you  have  no  experience.  But  the  point  is  this  :  If 
— or  rather  since — you  know  nothing  of  the  crime, 
since  the — the  party  in  the  closet — is  neither  your 
father,  nor  your  brother,  nor  your  creditor,  nor  your 
mother-in-law,  nor  what  they  call  an  injured  hus- 
band  ' 

*  Oh,  my  dear  sir ! '  interjected  Pitman,  horrified. 
'  Since,  in  short,'  continued  the  lawyer,  '  you  had 

no  possible  interest  in  the  crime,  we  have  a  perfectly 
free  field  before  us  and  a  safe  game  to  play.  Indeed 
the  problem  is  really  entertaining ;  it  is  one  I  have 
long  contemplated  in  the  light  of  an  A.  B.  case ; 


PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE  131 

here  it  is  at  last  under  my  hand  in  specie ;  and  I  mean 
to  pull  you  through.  Do  you  hear  that  ? — I  mean  to 
pull  you  through.  Let  me  see  :  it's  a  long  time  since 
I  have  had  what  I  call  a  genuine  holiday  ;  I'll  seud  an 
excuse  to-morrow  to  the  office.  We  had  best  be 
lively,'  he  added  significantly  ;  ^  for  we  must  not  spoil 
the  market  for  the  other  man.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? '  inquired  Pitman.  '  What 
other  man  ?     The  inspector  of  police  ?  ' 

'  Damn  the  inspector  of  police ! '  remarked  his 
companion.  '  If  you  won't  take  the  short  cut  and 
bury  this  in  your  back  garden,  we  must  find  someone 
who  will  bury  it  in  his.  We  must  place  the  affair,  in 
short,  in  the  hands  of  someone  of  fewer  scruples  and 
more  resources.' 

'  A  private  detective,  perhaps  ? '  suggested 
Pitman. 

'  There  are  times  when  you  fill  me  with  pity,' 
observed  the  lawyer.  '  By  the  way.  Pitman,'  he  added 
in  another  key,  '  I  have  always  regretted  that  you  have 
no  piano  in  this  den  of  yours.  Even  if  you  don't  play 
yourself,  your  friends  might  like  to  entertain  them- 
selves with  a  little  music  while  you  were  muddiug.' 

'  I  shall  get  one  at  once  if  you  like,'  said  Pitman 
nervously,  anxious  to  please.  '  I  play  the  fiddle  a  little 
as  it  is.' 


122  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  I  know  you  do,'  said  Michael ;  '  but  what^s  the 
fiddle — above  all  as  you  play  it  ?  What  you  want  is 
polyphonic  music.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is, 
since  it's  too  late  for  you  to  buy  a  piano  I'll  give  you 
mine.' 

'  Thank  you,'  said  the  artist,  blankly.  '-  You  will 
give  me  yours  ?     I  am  sure  it's  very  good  in  you.' 

*  Yes,  1*11  give  you  mine,'  continued  ^lichael,  '  for 
the  inspector  of  police  to  play  on  while  his  men  are 
digging  up  your  back  garden.' 

Pitman  stared  at  him  in  pained  amazement. 
'  No,  I'm  not  insane,'  Michael  went  on.  *  I'm  play- 
ful but  quite  coherent.  See  here.  Pitman ;  follow 
me  one  half  minute.  I  mean  to  profit  by  the  refresh- 
ing fact  that  we  are  really  and  truly  innocent; 
nothing  but  the  presence  of  the — you  know  what — 
connects  us  with  the  crime  ;  once  let  us  get  rid  of  it, 
no  matter  how,  and  there  is  no  possible  clue  to  trace 
us  by.  Well,  I  give  you  my  piano ;  we'll  bring  it 
round  this  very  night.  To-morrow  we  rip  the  fittings 
out,  deposit  the — our  friend — inside,  plump  the  whole 
on  a  cart,  and  carry  it  to  the  chambers  of  a  young 
gentleman  whom  I  know  by  sight.' 

*  Whom  do  you  know  by  sight  ? '  repeated 
Pitman. 

'  And  what  is  more  to  the  purpose/  continued 


PITMAN  TAKES   LEGAL  ADVICE  123 

Micliael,  '  whose  chambers  I  know  better  than  he 
does  himself.  A  friend  of  mine — I  call  him  my  friend 
for  brevity;  he  is  now,  I  understand,  in  Demerara 
and  (most  likely)  in  jail — was  the  previous  occupant. 
I  defended  him,  and  I  got  him  off  too — all  saved  but 
honour ;  his  assets  were  nil,  but  he  gave  me  what  he 
had,  poor  gentleman,  and  along  with  the  rest — the 
key  of  his  chambers.  It's  there  that  I  propose  to 
leave  the  piano  and,  shall  we  say  Cleopatra  ? ' 

'  It  seems  very  wild,'  said  Pitman.  '  And  what 
will  become  of  the  poor  young  gentleman  whom  you 
know  by  sight  ? ' 

'  It  will  do  him  good,'  said  Michael  cheerily.  'Just 
what  he  wants  to  steady  him.' 

'  But,  my  dear  sir,  he  might  be  involved  in  a 
charge  of — a  charge  of  murder,'  gulped  the  artist. 

*  Well,  he'll  be  just  where  we  are,'  returned  the 
lawyer.  '  He's  innocent,  you  see.  What  hangs 
people,  my  dear  Pitman,  is  the  unfortunate  circum- 
stance of  guilt.' 

'  But  indeed,  indeed,'  j^leaded  Pitman,  '  the  whole 
scheme  appears  to  me  so  wild.  Would  it  not  be  safer, 
after  all,  just  to  send  for  the  police  ? ' 

'  And  make  a  scandal  ? '  inquired  Michael. 
'  "  The  Chelsea  Mystery ;  alleged  innocence  of  Pit- 
man "  ?     How  would  that  do  at  the  Seminary  ? ' 


124  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*It  would  imply  my  discharge,'  admitted  the 
drawing-master.     ^  I  cannot  deny  that.' 

*  And  besides,'  said  Michael,  '  I  am  not  going  to 
embark  in  such  a  business  and  have  no  fun  for  my 
money.' 

*  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  is  that  a  proper  spirit  ? '  cried 
Pitman. 

*  Oh,  I  only  said  that  to  cheer  you  up,'  said  the 
unabashed  Michael.  *  Nothing  like  a  little  judicious 
levity.  But  it's  quite  needless  to  discuss.  If  you 
mean  to  follow  my  advice,  come  on,  and  let  us  get 
the  piano  at  once.  If  you  don't,  just  drop  me  the 
word,  and  I'll  leave  you  to  deal  with  the  whole  thing 
according  to  your  better  judgment.' 

*  You  know  perfectly  well  that  T  depend  on  you 
entirely,'  returned  Pitman.  '  But  oh,  what  a  night 
is  before  me  with  that — horror  in  my  studio !  How 
am  I  to  think  of  it  on  my  pillow  ? ' 

*Well,  you  know,  my  piano  will  be  there  too,' 
said  Michael.     '  That'll  raise  the  average.' 

An  hour  later  a  cart  came  up  the  lane,  and  the 
lawyer's  piano — a  momentous  Broadwood  grand — 
was  deposited  in  Mr.  Pitman's  studio. 


125 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IN   WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY   ENJOYS   A   HOLIDAY 

Punctually  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning  the  lawyer 
rattled  (according  to  previous  appointment)  on  the 
studio  door.  He  found  the  artist  sadly  altered  for 
the  worse — bleached,  bloodshot,  and  chalky — a  man 
upon  wires,  the  tail  of  his  haggard  eye  still  wan- 
dering to  the  closet.  Nor  was  the  professor  of 
drawing  less  inclined  to  wonder  at  his  friend. 
Michael  was  usually  attired  in  the  height  of  fashion, 
with  a  certain  mercantile  brilliancy  best  described 
perhaps  as  stylish;  nor  could  anything  be  said 
against  him,  as  a  rule,  but  that  he  looked  a  trifle  too 
like  a  wedding  guest  to  be  quite  a  gentleman.  To- 
day he  had  fallen  altogether  from  these  heights.  He 
wore  a  flannel  shirt  of  washed-out  shepherd's  tartan, 
and  a  suit  of  reddish  tweeds,  of  the  colour  known  to 
tailors  as  '  heather  mixture ; '  his  neckcloth  was  black, 
and  tied  loosely  in  a  sailor's  knot;   a  rusty  ulster 


126  THE    WRONG  BOX 

partly  concealed  these  advantages ;  and  his  feet  were 
shod  with  rough  walking  boots.  His  hat  was  an  old 
soft  felt,  which  he  removed  with  a  flourish  as  he 
entered. 

*  Here  I  am,  William  Dent ! '  he  cried,  and 
drawing  from  his  pocket  two  little  wisps  of  reddish 
hair,  he  held  them  to  his  cheeks  like  side-whiskers 
and  danced  about  the  studio  with  the  filmy  graces  of 
a  ballet-girl. 

Pitman  laughed  sadly.  *I  should  never  have 
known  yon/  said  he. 

*Nor  were  you  intended  to,*  returned  Michael, 
replacing  his  false  whiskers  in  his  pocket.  *  Now  we 
must  overhaul  you  and  your  wardrobe,  and  disguise 
you  up  to  the  nines.* 

*  Disguise ! '  cried  the  artist.  *  Must  I  indeed 
disguise  myself?     Has  it  come  to  that  ? ' 

*My  dear  creature,'  returned  his  companion, 
'  disguise  is  the  spice  of  life.  What  is  life,  passion- 
ately exclaimed  the  French  philosopher,  without  the 
pleasures  of  disguise  ?  I  don't  say  it's  always  good 
taste,  and  I  know  it's  unprofessional ;  but  what's  the 
odds,  down-hearted  drawing-master  ?  It  has  to  be. 
We  have  to  leave  a  false  impression  on  the  minds 
of  many  persons,  and  in  particular  on  the  mind  of 
Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth — the  young  gentleman  I  know 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY    127 

by  sight — if  lie  should  have  the  bad  taste  to  be  at 
home.' 

'  If  he  be  at  home  ? '  faltered  the  artist.  '  That 
would  be  the  end  of  all.' 

'  Won't  matter  a  d ,'  returned  Michael  airily. 

'  Let  me  see  your  clothes,  and  I'll  make  a  new  man 
of  you  in  a  jiffy/ 

In  the  bedroom,  to  which  he  was  at  once  con- 
ducted, Michael  examined  Pitman's  poor  and  scanty 
wardrobe  with  a  humorous  eye,  picked  out  a  short 
jacket  of  black  alpaca,  and  presently  added  to  that  a 
pair  of  summer  trousers  which  somehow  took  his  fancy 
as  incongruous.  Then,  with  the  garments  in  his 
hand,  he  scrutinised  the  artist  closely. 

'I  don't  like  that  clerical  collar,'  he  remarked. 
'  Have  you  nothing  else  ? ' 

The  professor  of  drawing  pondered  for  a  moment, 
and  then  brightened ;  '  I  have  a  pair  of  low-necked 
shirts,'  he  said,  'that  I  used  to  wear  in  Paris  as  a 
student.     They  are  rather  loud.' 

'  The  very  thing ! '  ejaculated  Michael.  '  You'll 
look  perfectly  beastly.  Here  are  spats,  too,'  he  con- 
tinued, drawing  forth  a  pair  of  those  offensive  little 
gaiters.  ^  Must  have  spats !  And  now  you  jump 
into  these,  and  whistle  a  tune  at  the  window  for  (say) 


128  THE   WRONG  BOX 

three-quarters  of  an  hour.  After  that  you  can  rejoin 
me  on  the  field  of  glory.' 

So  saying  Michael  returned  to  the  studio.  It  was 
the  morning  of  the  easterly  gale;  the  wind  blew 
shrilly  among  the  statues  in  the  garden,  and  drove 
the  rain  upon  the  skylight  in  the  studio  ceiling ;  and 
at  about  the  same  moment  of  time  when  Morris 
attacked  the  hundredth  version  of  his  uncle's  signa- 
ture in  Bloomsbury,  Michael,  in  Chelsea,  began  to 
rip  the  wires  out  of  the  Broad  wood  grand. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  Pitman  was 
admitted  to  find  the  closet-door  standing  open,  the 
closet  untenanted,  and  the  piano  discreetly  shut. 

*It's  a  remarkably  heavy  instrument,'  observed 
Michael,  and  turned  to  consider  his  friend's  disguise. 
*  You  must  shave  off  that  beard  of  yours,'  he  said. 

'  My  beard ! '  cried  Pitman.  *  I  cannot  shave 
my  beard.  I  cannot  tamper  with  my  appearance — 
my  principals  would  object.  They  hold  very  strong 
views  as  to  the  appearance  of  the  professors — young 
ladies  are  considered  so  romantic.  My  beard  was 
regarded  as  quite  a  feature  when  I  went  about  the 
place.  It  was  regarded,'  said  the  artist,  with  rising 
colour,  '  it  was  regarded  as  unbecoming.' 

'You  can  let  it  grow  again,'  returned  Michael, 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   ng 

'  and  then  you'll  be  so  precious  ugly  that  they'll  raise 
your  salary.' 

'  But  I  don't  want  to  look  ugly,'  cried  the  artist. 

'  Don't  be  an  ass,'  said  Michael,  who  hated  beards 
and  was  delighted  to  destroy  one.  '  Off  with  it  like 
a  man ! ' 

^  Gf  course,  if  you  insist,'  said  Pitman ;  and  then 
he  sighed,  fetched  some  hot  water  from  the  kitchen, 
and  setting  a  glass  upon  his  easel,  first  clipped  his 
beard  with  scissors  and  then  shaved  his  chin.  He 
could  not  conceal  from  himself,  as  he  regarded  the 
result,  that  his  last  claims  to  manhood  had  been 
sacrificed,  but  Michael  seemed  delighted. 

'  A  new  man,  I  declare  ! '  he  cried.  '  When  I 
give  you  the  window-glass  spectacles  I  have  in  my 
pocket,  you'll  be  the  beau-ideal  of  a  French  com- 
mercial traveller.' 

Pitman  did  not  reply,  but  continued  to  gaze 
disconsolately  on  his  image  in  the  glass. 

'Do  you  know,'  asked  Michael,  'what  the 
Governor  of  South  Carolina  said  to  the  Governor  of 
North  Carolina  ?  "  It's  a  long  time  between  drinks,'* 
observed  that  powerful  thinker ;  and  if  you  will  put 
your  hand  into  the  top  left-hand  pocket  of  my  ulster, 
I  have  an  impression  you  will  find  a  flask  of  brandy. 
Thank   you,  Pitman,'  he  added,  as  he  filled  out  a 

K 
f 


THE   WRONG  BOX 


glass  for  each.  ^Now  you  will  give  me  news  of 
this.' 

The  artist  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  water-jug, 
but  Michael  arrested  the  movement. 

*Not  if^ou  went  upon  your  knees!'  he  cried. 
'  This  is  the  finest  liqueur  brandy  in  Great  Britain.' 

Pitman  put  his  lips  to  it,  set  it  down  again,  and 
sighed. 

*  Well,  I  must  say  you're  the  poorest  companion 
for  a  holiday ! '  cried  Michael.  '  If  that's  all  you 
know  of  brandy,  you  shall  have  no  more  of  it ;  and 
while  I  finish  the  flask,  you  may  as  well  begin  busi- 
ness. Come  to  think  of  it,'  he  broke  off,  '  I  have 
made  an  abominable  error :  you  should  have  ordered 
the  cart  before  you  were  disguised.  Why,  Pitman, 
what  the  devil's  the  use  of  you  ?  why  couldn't  you 
have  reminded  me  of  that  ? ' 

*  I  never  even  knew  there  was  a  cart  to  be  ordered,' 
said  the  artist.  *  But  I  can  take  off  the  disguise 
again,'  he  suggested  eagerly. 

*  You  would  find  it  rather  a  bother  to  put  on  your 
beard,'  observed  the  lawyer.  *  No,  it's  a  false  step  5 
the  sort  of  thing  that  hangs  people,'  he  continued, 
with  eminent  cheerfulness,  as  he  sipped  his  brandy  ; 
*  and  it  can't  be  retraced  now.  Off  to  the  mews  with 
you,  make  all  the  arrangements;  they're  to  take  the 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   131 

piano  from  liere,  cart  it  to  Victoria,  and  despatch  it 
thence  by  rail  to  Cannon  Street,  to  lie  till  calFed  for 
in  the  name  of  Fortune  du  Boisgobey.' 

'  Isn't  that  rather  an  awkward  name  ? '  pleaded 
Pitman. 

'  Awkward  ? '  cried  Michael,  scornfully.  '  It 
would  hang  us  both !  Brown  is  both  safer  and 
easier  to  pronounce.     Call  it  Brown.' 

'  I  wish,'  said  Pitman,  ^  for  my  sake,  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  so  much  of  hanging.' 

'  Talking  about  it's  nothing,  my  boy ! '  returned 
Michael.  '  But  take  your  hat  and  be  off,  and  mind 
and  pay  everything  beforehand.' 

Left  to  himself,  the  lawyer  turned  his  attention 
for  some  time  exclusively  to  the  liqueur  brandy,  and 
his  spirits,  which  had  been  pretty  fair  all  morning, 
now  prodigiously  rose.  He  proceeded  to  adjust  his 
whiskers  finally  before  the  glass.  ^  Devilish  rich,'  he 
remarked,  as  he  contemplated  his  reflection,  '■  I  look 
like  a  purser's  mate.'  And  at  that  moment,  the 
window-glass  spectacles  (which  he  had  hitherto 
destined  for  Pitman)  flashed  into  his  mind ;  he  put 
them  on,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  effect.  '  Just 
what  I  required,'  he  said.  '  I  wonder  what  I  look 
like  now?  A  humorous  novelist,  I  should  think,' 
and  he  began  to  practise  divers  characters  of  walk, 

k2 


132  THE   WRONG  BOX 

naming  them  to  himself  as  he  proceeded.  '  Walk  of 
a  humorous  novelist — but  that  would  require  an 
umbrella.  "Walk  of  a  purser's  mate.  Walk  of  an 
Australian  colonist  revisiting  the  scenes  of  child- 
hood. Walk  of  Sepoy  colonel,  ditto,  ditto.'  And  in 
the  midst  of  the  Sepoy  colonel  (which  was  an 
excellent  assumption,  although  inconsistent  with  the 
style  of  his  make-up),  his  eye  lighted  on  the  piano. 
This  instrument  was  made  to  lock  both  at  the  top 
and  at  the  keyboard,  but  the  key  of  the  latter  had 
been  mislaid.  Michael  opened  it  and  ran  his  fingers 
over  the  dumb  keys.  *  Fine  instrument — full,  rich 
tone,'  he  observed,  and  he  drew  in  a  seat. 

When  Mr.  Pitman  returned  to  the  studio,  he  was 
appalled  to  observe  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend 
performing  miracles  of  execution  on  the  silent  grand. 

'  Heaven  help  me ! '  thought  the  little  man,  '  I 
fear  he  has  been  drinking !  Mr.  Finsbury,'  he  said 
aloud ;  and  Michael,  without  rising,  turned  upon  him 
a  countenance  somewhat  flushed,  encircled  with 
the  bush  of  the  red  whiskers,  and  bestridden  by  the 
spectacles.  '  Capriccio  in  B-flat  on  the  departure  of 
a  friend,'  said  he,  continuing  his  noiseless  evolutions. 

Indignation    awoke    in  the    mind   of    Pitman. 

*  Those    spectacles    were    to    be    mine,'   he    cried. 

*  They  are  an  essential  part  of  my  disguise.' 


MICHAEL  FINS  BURY  ENJOYS  A  HO  LID  A  Y   133 

^I  am  going  to  wear  them  myself,'  replied 
Michael ;  and  he  added,  with  some  show  of  truth, 
'  There  would  be  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  suspicion  aroused 
if  we  both  wore  spectacles.' 

'  Oh,  well,'  said  the  assenting  Pitman,  '  I  rather 
counted  on  them  ;  but  of  course,  if  you  insist.  And 
at  any  rate,  here  is  the  cart  at  the  door.' 

While  the  men  were  at  work,  Michael  concealed 
himself  in  the  closet  among  the  debris  of  the  barrel 
and  the  wires  of  the  piano ;  and  as  soon  as  the  coast 
was  clear,  the  pair  sallied  forth  by  the  lane,  jumped 
into  a  hansom  in  the  King's  Road,  and  were  driven 
rapidly  toward  town.  It  was  still  cold  and  raw  and 
boisterous ;  the  rain  beat  strongly  in  their  faces,  but 
Michael  refused  to  have  the  glass  let  down  ;  he  had 
now  suddenly  donned  the  character  of  cicerone,  and 
pointed  out  and  lucidly  commented  on  the  sights  of 
London,  as  they  drove.  '  My  dear  fellow,'  he  said, 
'  you  don't  seem  to  know  anything  of  your  native 
city.  Suppose  we  visited  the  Tower  ?  No  ?  Well, 
perhaps  it's  a  trifle  out  of  our  way.  But  anyway — 
Here,  Cabby,  drive  round  by  Trafalgar  Square !  ' 
And  on  that  historic  battle-field  he  insisted  on  draw- 
ing up,  while  he  criticised  the  statues  and  gave  the 
artist  many  curious  details  (quite  new  to  history)  of 
the  lives  of  the  celebrated  men  they  represented. 


134  THE    WRONG  BOX 

It  would  be  difficult  to  express  what  Pitman 
suffered  in  tlio  cab :  cold,  wet,  terror  in  the  capital 
degree,  a  grounded  distrust  of  the  commander  under 
whom  he  served,  a  sense  of  impudency  in  the  matter 
of  the  low-necked  shirt,  a  bitter  sense  of  the  decline 
and  fall  involved  in  the  deprivation  of  his  beard,  all 
these  were  among  the  ingredients  of  the  bowl.  To 
reach  the  restaurant,  for  which  they  were  deviously 
steering,  was  the  first  relief.  To  hear  Michael 
bespeak  a  private  room  was  a  second  and  a  still 
greater.  Nor,  as  they  mounted  the  stair  under  the 
guidance  of  an  unintelligible  alien,  did  he  fail  to 
note  with  gratitude  the  fewness  of  the  persons 
present,  or  the  still  more  cheering  fact  that  the 
greater  part  of  these  were  exiles  from  the  land  of 
France.  It  was  thus  a  blessed  thought  that  none 
of  them  would  be  connected  v/ith  the  Seminary ; 
for  even  the  French  professor,  though  admittedly  a 
papist,  he  could  scarce  imagine  frequenting  so 
rakish  an  establishment. 

The  alien  introduced  them  into  a  small,  bare 
room  with  a  single  table,  a  sofa,  and  a  dwarfish  fire ; 
and  Michael  called  promptly  for  more  coals  and  a 
couple  of  brandies  and  sodas. 

'  Oh,  no,'  said  Pitman,  *  surely  not — no  more  to 
drink. 


MICHAEL  FINS  BURY  ENJOYS  A  HO  LI  DA  K    135 

^  I  don't  know  what  you  would  be  at,' said  Michael 
plaintively.  '  It's  positively  necessary  to  do  some- 
thing ;  and  one  shouldn't  smoke  before  meals — I 
thought  that  was  understood.  You  seem  to  have  no 
idea  of  h^'giene.'  And  he  compared  his  watch  with 
the  clock  upon  the  chimney-piece. 

Pitman  fell  into  bitter  musing;  here  he  was, 
ridiculously  shorn,  absurdly  disguised,  in  the  company 
of  a  drunken  man  in  spectacles,  and  waiting  for  a 
champagne  luncheon  in  a  restaurant  painfully  foreign. 
What  would  his  principals  think,  if  they  could  see 
him  ?  What  if  they  knew  his  tragic  and  deceitful 
errand  ? 

From  these  reflections  he  was  aroused  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  alien  with  the  brandies  and  sodas. 
Michael  took  one  and  bade  the  waiter  pass  the  other 
to  his  friend. 

Pitman  waved  it  from  him  with  his  hand.  '  Don't 
let  me  lose  all  self-respect,'  he  said. 

'  Anything  to  oblige  a  friend,'  returned  Michael. 
^  But  I'm  not  going  to  drink  alone.  Here,'  he  added 
to  the  waiter,  'you  take  it.'  And  then,  touching 
glasses,  '  The  health  of  Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth,'  said  he. 

'  Meestare  Gidden  Borsye,'  replied  the  waiter,  and 
he  tossed  off  the  liquor  in  four  gulps. 

'  Have  another  ?  '  said  Michael,  with  undisguised 


36  THE    WRONG  BOX 


interest.     *  I  never  saw  a  man  drink  faster.     It  re- 
stores one's  confidence  in  the  human  race.' 

But  the  waiter  excused  himself  politely,  and 
assisted  by  someone  from  without,  began  to  bring  in 
lunch. 

Michael  made  an  excellent  meal,  which  he  washed 
down  with  a  bottle  of  Heidsieck's  dry  monopole.  As 
for  the  ait'st,  he  was  far  too  uneasy  to  eat,  and  his 
companion  flatly  refused  to  let  him  share  in  the 
champagne  unless  he  did. 

'  One  of  us  must  stay  sober,'  remarked  the  law- 
yer, *  and  I  won't  give  you  champagne  on  the  strength 
of  a  leg  of  grouse.  I  have  to  be  cautious/  he  added 
confidentially.  *  One  drunken  man,  excellent  busi- 
ness— two  drunken  men,  all  my  eye.' 

On  the  production  of  coffee  and  departure  of  the 
waiter,  Michael  might  have  been  obsen'ed  to  make 
portentous  efforts  after  gravity  of  mien.  He  looked 
his  friend  in  the  face  (one  ^eye  perhaps  a  trifle  off), 
and  addressed  him  thickly  but  severely. 

'  Enough  of  this  fooling,'  was  his  not  inappropriate 
exordium.  *  To  business.  Mark  me  closely.  I  am 
an  Australian.  My  name  is  John  Dickson,  though 
you  mightn't  think  it  from  my  unassuming  appear- 
ance. You  will  be  relieved  to  hear  that  I  am  rich, 
sir,  very  rich.     You  can't  go  into  this  sort  of  thing 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   137 

too  thoronglil}^,  Pitman ;  the  whole  secret  is  prepa- 
ration, and  I  get  up  my  biography  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  I  could  tell  it  you  now,  onh^  I  have 
forgotten  it.' 

'  Perhaps  I'm  stupid — '  began  Pitman. 

'  That's  it ! '  cried  Michael.  '  Very  stupid  ;  but 
rich  too — richer  than  I  am.  I  thought  you  would 
enjoy  it,  Pitman,  so  I've  arranged  that  you  were  to  be 
literally  wallowing  in  wealth.  But  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  you're  only  an  American,  and  a  maker  of  india- 
rubber 'overshoes  at  that.  And  the  worst  of  it  is — • 
why  should  I  conceal  it  from  you — the  worst  of  it  is 
that  you're  called  Ezra  Thomas.  Now,'  said  Michael, 
with  a  really  appalling  seriousness  of  manner,  '  tell 
me  who  we  are.' 

The  unfortunate  little  man  was  cross-examined 
till  he  knew  these  facts  by  heart. 

'  There  ! '  cried  the  lawyer.  '  Our  plans  are  laid. 
Thoroughly  consistent — that's  the  great  thing.' 

'  But  I  don't  understand,'  objected  Pitman. 

'  Oh,  you'll  understand  right  enough  when  it 
comes  to  the  point,'  said  Michael,  rising. 

'  There  doesn't  seem  any  story  to  it,'  said  the 
artist. 

'  We  can  invent  one  as  we  go  along,'  returned 
the  lawyer. 


138  THE    WROXG  BOX 


*  But  I  can't  invent/  protested  Pitman.  <  I  never 
could  invent  in  all  my  life.' 

*  You'll  find  you  have  to,  my  boy,'  was  Michael's 
easy  comment,  and  he  began  calling  for  the  waiter, 
with  whom  he  at  once  resumed  a  sparkling  conver- 
sation. 

It  was  a  down-cast  little  man  that  followed  him. 
*  Of  course  he  is  very  clever,  but  can  I  trust  him  in 
such  a  state?'  he  asked  himself.  And  when  they 
were  once  more  in  a  hansom,  he  took  heart  of  grace. 

'  Don't  you  think,'  he  faltered,  *  it  would  be  wiser, 
considering  all  things,  to  put  this  business  off  ? ' 

*  Put  off  till  to-morrow  what  can  be  done  to-day  ? ' 
cried  Michael,  with  indignation.  'Never  heard  of 
such  a  thing !  Cheer  up,  it's  all  right,  go  in  and 
win — there's  a  lion-hearted  Pitman  ! ' 

At  Cannon  Street,  they  inquired  for  Mr.  Brown's 
piano,  which  had  duly  arrived,  drove  thence  to  a 
neighbouring  mews,  where  they  contracted  for  a  cart, 
and  while  that  was  being  got  ready,  took  shelter  in 
the  harness-room  beside  the  stove.  Here  the  lawyer 
presently  toppled  against  the  wall  and  fell  into  a 
gentle  slumber;  so  that  Pitman  found  himself  launched 
on  his  own  resources  in  the  midst  of  several  staring 
loafers,  such  as  love  to  spend  unprofitable  days  about 
a  stable. 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   139 

'  Kough  clay,  sir/  observed  one.  '-  Do  you  go 
far?' 

'  Yes,  it's  a — rather  a  rough,  day,'  said  the  artist ; 
and  then,  feeh'ng  that  he  must  change  the  conversa- 
tion, 'My  friend  is  an  Australian,  he  is  very  im- 
pulsive,' he  added. 

'  An  Australian  ?  '  said  another.  '  I've  a  brother 
myself  in  Melbourne.  Does  your  friend  come  from 
that  way  at  all  ? ' 

'  No,  not  exactly,'  replied  the  artist,  whose  ideas 
of  the  geography  of  New  Holland  were  a  little 
scattered.  '  He  lives  immensely  far  inland,  and  is 
very  rich.' 

The  loafers  gazed  with  great  respect  upon  the 
slumbering  colonist. 

'  Well,'  remarked  the  second  speaker,  '  it's  a 
mighty  big  place,  is  Australia.  Do  you  come  from 
there  away  too  ? ' 

'  No,  I  do  not,'  said  Pitman.  'I  do  not,  and  I 
don't  want  to,'  he  added,  irritably.  And  then  feel- 
ing some  diversion  needful,  he  fell  upon  Michael  and 
shook  him  up. 

'  Hullo,'  said  the  lawyer,  '  what's  wrong  ?  ' 

'  The  cart  is  nearly  ready,'  said  Pitman  sternly. 
'  I  will  not  allow  you  to  sleep.' 

'  All  right — -no  offence,  old  man,'  replied  Michael, 


I40  THE   WRONG  BOX 


yawning.  'A  little  sleep  never  did  anybody  any 
harm ;  I  feel  comparatively  sober  now.  But  what's 
all  the  hurry  ?  '  he  added,  looking  round  him  glassily. 

*  I  don't  see  the  cart,  and  I've  forgotten  where  we 
left  the  piano.' 

What  more  the  lawyer  might  have  said,  in  the 
confidence  of  the  moment,  is  with  Pitman  a  matter 
of  tremulous  conjecture  to  this  day;  but  by  the 
most  blessed  circumstance,  the  cart  was  then  an- 
nounced, and  Michael  must  bend  the  forces  of  his 
mind  to  the  more  diflScult  task  of  rising. 

'  Of  course,  you'll  drive,'  he  remarked  to  his  com- 
panion, as  he  clambered  on  the  vehicle. 

*  I  drive ! '  cried  Pitman.  *  I  never  did  such  a 
thing  in  my  life.     I  cannot  drive.* 

*  Very  well,'  responded  Michael  with  entire  com- 
posure, *  neither  can  I  see.  But  just  as  you  like. 
Anything  to  oblige  a  friend.' 

A  glimpse  of  the  ostler's  darkening  countenance 
decided   Pitman.     *A11  right,'  he  said  desperately, 

*  you  drive.     I'll  tell  you  where  to  go.' 

On  Michael  in  the  character  of  charioteer  (since 
this  is  not  intended  to  be  a  novel  of  adventure)  it 
would  be  superfluous  to  dwell  at  length.  Pitman,  as 
he  sat  holding  on  and  gasping  counsels,  sole  witness 
of  this   singular  feat,  knew  not   whether   most   to 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   141 

admire  tlie  driver's  valour  or  his  undeserved  good 
fortune.  But  the  latter  at  least  prevailed,  the  cart 
reached  Cannon  Street  without  disaster;  and  Mr. 
Brown's  piano  was  speedily  and  cleverly  got  on  board. 

'Well,  sir,'  said  the  leading  porter,  smiling  as 
he  mentally  reckoned  up  a  handful  of  loose  silver, 
*  that's  a  mortal  heavy  piano.' 

'  It's  the  richness  of  the  tone,'  returned  Michael, 
as  he  drove  away. 

It  was  but  a  little  distance  in  the  rain,  which 
now  fell  thick  and  quiet,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Mr. 
Gideon  Forsyth's  chambers  in  the  Temple.  There, 
in  a  deserted  by-street,  Michael  drew  up  the  horses 
and  gave  them  in  charge  to  a  blighted  shoeblack ; 
and  the  pair  descending  from  the  cart,  whereon  they 
had  figured  so  incongruously,  set  forth  on  foot  for 
the  decisive  scene  of  their  adventure.  For  the  first 
time,  Michael  displayed  a  shadow  of  uneasiness. 

'  Are  my  whiskers  right  ?  '  he  asked.  '  It  w^ould 
be  the  devil  and  all  if  I  was  spotted.' 

'  They  are  perfectly  in  their  place,'  returned  Pit- 
man, with  scant  attentiou .  .  '  But  is  my  disguise 
equally  effective  ?  There  is  nothing  more  likely  than 
that  I  should  meet  some  of  my  patrons.' 

'  Oh,  nobody  could  tell  you  without  your  beard,' 
said  Michael.     *  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  remember 


142  THE    WRONG  BOX 


to    speak    slow ;    you    speak    through    your    nose 
already.' 

*  I  only  hope  the  young  man  won't  be  at  home,' 
sighed  Pitman. 

*  And  I  only  hope  he'll  be  alone,'  returned  the 
lawyer.  'It  will  save  a  precious  sight  of  manoeu- 
vring.' 

And  sure  enough,  when  they  had  knocked  at  the 
door,  Gideon  admitted  them  in  person  to  a  room, 
warmed  by  a  moderate  fire,  framed  nearly  to  the  roof 
in  works  connected  with  the  bench  of  British  Themis, 
and  offering,  except  ih  one  particular,  eloquent  testi- 
mony to  the  legal  zeal  of  the  proprietor.  The  one 
particular  was  the  chimney-piece,  which  displayed  a 
varied  assortment  of  pipes,  tobacco,  cigar-boxes,  and 
yellow-backed  French  novels. 

'  Mr.  Forsyth,  I  believe  ?  '  It  was  Michael  who 
thus  opened  the  engagement.  *  We  have  come  to 
trouble  you  with  a  piece  of  business.  I  fear  it's 
scarcely  professional ' 

*  I  am  afraid  I  ought  to  be  instructed  through  a 
solicitor,'  replied  Gideon. 

*  Well,  w^ell,  3*ou  shall  name  your  own,  and  the 
whole  affair  can  be  put  on  a  more  regular  footing  to- 
morrow,' replied  Michael,  taking  a  chair  and  motion- 
ing Pitman  to  do  the  same.     '  But  you  see  we  didn't 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   143 

know    any  solicitors ;    we  did   happen    to  know   of 
you,  and  time  presses.' 

^  May  I  inquire,  gentlemen,'  asked  Gideon,  '  to 
whom  it  was  I  am  indebted  for  a  recommendation  ?  ' 

'  You  may  inquire,'  returned  the  lawyer,  with  a 
foolish  laugh  ;  ^  but  I  was  invited  not  to  tell  you — 
till  the  thing  was  done.' 

'  My  uncle,  no  doubt,'  was  the  barrister's  con- 
clusion. 

^  My  name  is  John  Dickson,'  continued  Michael ; 
'  a  pretty  well-known  name  in  Ballarat ;  and  my 
friend  here  is  Mr.  Ezra  Thomas,  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  a  wealthy  manufacturer  of  india- 
rubber  overshoes.' 

'  Stop  one  moment  till  I  make  a  note  of  that/ 
said  Gideon ;  anyone  might  have  supposed  he  was  an 
old  practitioner. 

^Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  my  smoking  a 
cigar  ?  '  asked  Michael.  He  had  pulled  himself  to- 
gether for  the  entrance ;  now  again  there  began  to 
settle  on  his  mind  clouds  of  irresponsible  humour  and 
incipient  slumber ;.  and  he  hoped  (as  so  many  have 
hoped  in  the  like  case)  that  a  cigar  would  clear  him. 

'  Oh,  certainly,'  cried  Gideon  blandly.  '  Try  one 
of  mine;  I  can  confidently  recommend  them.'  And 
he  handed  the  box  to  his  client. 


144  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  In  case  I  don't  make  myself  perfectly  clear/ 
observed  the  Australian,  *  it's  perhaps  best  to  tell  you 
candidly  that  I've  been  lunching.  It's  a  thing  that 
may  happen  to  anyone.' 

'  Oh,   certainly,'    replied    the   affable    barrister. 

*  But  please  be  under  no  sense  of  hurry.     I  can  give 
you,'  he  added,  thoughtfully  consulting  his  watch — 

*  yes,  I  can  give  you  the  whole  afternoon.' 

*  The  business  that  brings  me  here,'  resumed  the 
Australian  with  gusto,  *  is  devilish  delicate,  I  can  tell 
you.  My  friend  Mr.  Thomas,  being  an  Ameri- 
can of  Portuguese  extraction,  unacquainted  with  our 
habits,  and  a  wealthy  manufacturer  of  Broadwood 
pianos ' 

*  Broadwood  pianos  ? '  cried  Gideon,  with  some 
surprise.  *  Dear  me,  do  I  understand  Mr.  Thomas 
to  be  a  member  of  the  firm  ?  ' 

*  Oh,   pirated    Broad  woods,'    returned    Michael. 

*  My  friend's  the  American  Broadwood.' 

*  But  I  understood  you  to  say,'  objected  Gideon, 

*  I  certainly  have  it  so  in  my  notes — that  your  friend 
was  a  manufacturer  of  india-rubber  overshoes.' 

*  I  know  it's  confusing  at  first,'  said  the  Australian, 
with  a  beaming  smile.  *  But  he — in  short,  he  com- 
bines the  two  professions.  And  many  others  besides 
— many,  many,  many  others,'  repeated  Mr.  Dickson, 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY    145 

with  drunken  solemnity.  '  Mr.  Thomas'  cotton-mills 
are  one  of  the  sights  of  Tallahassee ;  Mr.  Thomas' 
tobacco-mills  are  the  pride  of  Eichmond,  Va. ;  in 
short,  he's  one  of  my  oldest  friends,  Mr.  Forsyth, 
and  I  lay  his  case  before  you  with  emotion.' 

The  barrister  looked  at  Mr.  Thomas  and  was 
agreeabl}^  prepossessed  by  his  open  although  nervous 
countenance,  and  the  simplicity  and  timidity  of  his 
manner.  '  What  a  people  are  these  Americans  ! '  he 
thought.  '  Look  at  this  nervous,  weedy,  simple  little 
bird  in  a  low-necked  shirt,  and  think  of  him  wielding 
and  directing  interests  so  extended  and  seemingly 
incongruous !  But  had  we  not  better,'  he  observed 
aloud,  ^  had  we  not  perhaps  better  approach  the 
facts?' 

'  Man  of  business,  I  perceive,  sir ! '  said  the 
Australian.  '  Let's  approach  the  facts.  It's  a  breach 
of  promise  case.' 

The  unhappy  artist  was  so  unprepared  for  this 
view  of  his  position  that  he  could  scarce  suppress  a 
cry. 

'  Dear  me,'  said  Gideon,  '  they  are  apt  to  be  very 
troublesome.  Tell  me  everything  about  it,'  he  added 
kindly ;  '  if  you  require  my  assistance,  conceal 
nothing.' 

*  You  tell  him,'  said  Michael,  feeling,  apparently, 

L 


146  THE    WRONG  BOX 

that,  he  had  done  his  share.  *  My  friend  will  tell 
you  all  about  it,'  he  added  to  Gideon,  with  a  yawn. 
^  Excuse  my  closing  my  eyes  a  moment ;  I've  been 
sitting  up  with  a  sick  friend.' 

Pitman  gazed  blankly  about  the  room  ;  rage  and 
despair  seethed  in  his  innocent  spirit ;  thoughts  of 
flight,  thoughts  even  of  suicide,  came  and  went  before 
him ;  and  still  the  barrister  patiently  waited,  and 
still  the  artist  groped  in  vain  for  any  form  of  words, 
however  insignificant. 

*  It's  a  breach  of  promise  case,'  he  said  at  last,  in 
a  low  voice.  '  I — I  am  threatened  with  a  breach  of 
promise  case.'  Here,  in  desperate  quest  of  inspira- 
tion, he  made  a  clutch  at  his  beard ;  his  fingers  closed 
upon  the  unfamiliar  smoothness  of  a  shaven  chin ; 
and  with  that,  hope  and  courage  (if  such  expressions 
could  ever  have  been  appropriate  in  the  case  of 
Pitman)  conjointly  fled.  He  shook  Michael  roughly. 
<  Wake  up ! '  he  cried,  with  genuine  irritation  in  his 
tones.     *  I  cannot  do  it,  and  you  know  I  can't.' 

'  You  must  excuse  my  friend,'  said  Michael ;  '  he's 
no  hand  as  a  narrator  of  stirring  incident.  The  case 
is  simple,'  he  went  on.  '  My  friend  is  a  man  of  very 
strong  passions,  and  accustomed  to  a  simple,  patri- 
archal style  of  life.  You  see  the  thing  from  here : 
unfortunate  visit  to  Europe,  followed  by  unfortunate 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDA  Y    147 

acquaintance  with  sham  foreign -count,  who  has  a 
lovely  daughter.  Mr.  Thomas  was  quite  carried 
away ;  he  proposed,  he  was  accepted,  and  he  wrote 
— wrote  in  a  style  which  I  am  sure  he  must  regret 
to-day.  If  these  letters  are  produced  in  court,  sir, 
Mr.  Thomas's  character  is  gone.' 

^  Am  I  to  understand '  began  Gideon. 

'  My  dear  sir,'  said  the  Australian  emphatically, 
'  it  isn't  possible  to  understand  unless  you  saw 
them.' 

'That  is  a  painful  circumstance,'  said  Gideon; 
he  glanced  pityingly  in  the  direction  of  the  culprit, 
aftd  observing  on  his  countenance  every  mark  of 
confusion,  pityingly  withdrew  his  eyes. 

'And  that  would  be  nothing,'  continued  Mr. 
Dickson  sternly,  '  but  I  wish — I  wish  from  my  heart, 
sir,  I  could  say  that  Mr.  Thomas's  hands  were  clean. 
He  has  no  excuse  ;  for  he  was  engaged  at  the  time 
— and  is  still  engaged — to  the  belle  of  Constantinople, 
Ga.  My  friend's  conduct  was  unworthy  of  the 
brutes  that  perish.' 

'  Ga  ?  '  repeated  Gideon  inquiringly. 

'  A  contraction  in  current  use,'  said  Michael. 
'  Ga  for  Georgia,  in  the  same  way  as  Co  for  Com- 
pany.' 

'- 1  was  aware  it  was  sometimes  so  written,'  re- 

l2 


148  THE    WRONG  BOX 

turned  the  barrister,  *  but  not  that  it  was  so  pro- 
nounced.' 

'  Fact,  I  assure  you,'  said  Michael.  *  You  now 
see  for  yourself,  sir,  that  if  this  unhappy  person  is  to 
be  saved,  some  devilish  sharp  practice  will  be  needed. 
There's  money,  and  no  desire  to  spare  it.  Mr.  Thomas 
could  write  a  cheque  to-morrow  for  a  hundred  thousand. 
And,  Mr.  Forsyth,  there's  better  than  money.  The 
foreign  count — Count  Tamow,  he  calls  himself — was 
formerly  a  tobacconist  in  Bayswater,  and  passed  under 
the  humble  but  expressive  name  of  Schmidt;  his 
daughter — if  she  is  his  daughter — there's  another 
point — make  a  note  of  that  Mr.  Forsyth — his  dau^- 
ter  at  that  time  actually  served  in  the  shop — and  she 
now  proposes  to  marry  a  man  of  the  eminence  of  Mr. 
Thomas  !  Now  do  you  see  our  game  ?  We  know  they 
contemplate  a  move  ;  and  we  wish  to  forestall  'em. 
Down  you  go  to  Hampton  Court,  where  they  live,  and 
threaten,  or  bribe,  or  both,  until  you  get  the  letters ; 
if  you  can't,  God  help  us,  we  must  go  to  court  and 
Thomas  must  be  exposed.  I'll  be  done  with  him  for 
one,'  added  the  unchivalrous  friend. 

'  There  seem  some  elements  of  success,'  said 
Gideon.  'Was  Schmidt  at  all  known  to  the 
police  ? ' 

'  We  hope  so,'  said  Michael.     *  We  have  every 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   14^ 

ground  to  think  so.  Mark  the  neighbourhood — 
Bayswater !  doesn't  Bayswater  occur  to  you  as  very 
suggestive  ? ' 

For  perhaps  the  sixth  time  during  this  remark- 
able interview,  Gideon  wondered  if  he  were  not 
becoming  light-headed.  '  I  suppose  it's  just  because 
he  has  been  lunching,'  he  thought ;  and  then  added 
aloud,  '  To  what  figure  may  I  go  ?  ' 

'  Perhaps  five  thousand  would  be  enough  for  to- 
day,' said  Michael.  'And  now,  sir,  do  not  let  me 
detain  you  any  longer ;  the  afternoon  wears  on  ;  there 
are  plenty  of  trains  to  Hampton  Court ;  and  I  needn't 
try  to  describe  to  you  the  impatience  of  my  friend. 
Here  is  a  five-pound  note  for  current  expenses ;  and 
here  is  the  address.'  And  Michael  began  to  write, 
paused,  tore  up  the  paper,  and  put  the  pieces  in  his 
pocket.  '  I  will  dictate,'  he  said,  '  my  writing  is  so 
uncertain.' 

Gideon  took  down  the  address,  '  Count  Tarnow, 
Kurnaul  Villa,  Hampton  Court.'  Then  he  wrote 
something  else  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  '  You  said  you 
had  not  chosen  a  solicitor,'  he  said.  '  For  a  case  of 
this  sort,  here  is  the  best  man  in  London.'  And  he 
handed  the  paper  to  Michael. 

'  God  bless  me  !  '  ejaculated  Michael,  as  he  lead 
his  own  address. 


50  THE   WRONG  BOX 


'  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  have  seen  his  name  con- 
nected with  some  rather  painful  cases,'  said  Gideon. 

*  But  he  is  liimself  a  psrfectly  honest  man  and  his 
capacity  is  recognised.  And  now,  gentlemen,  it  only 
remains  for  me  to  ask  where  I  shall  comnunicate 
with  you.' 

'The   Langham,   of  course,'   returned   Michael. 

*  Till  to-night.* 

*  Till  to-night,'  replied  Gideon,  smiling.  '  I  sup- 
pose I  may  knock  you  up  at  a  late  hour  ? ' 

*Any  hour,  any  hour,'  cried  the  vanishing 
solicitor. 

*  Now  there's  a  young  fellow  with  a  head  upon  his 
shoulders,'  he  said  to  I^itman,  as  soon  as  they  were 
in  the  street. 

Pitman  was  indistinctly  heard  to  murmur, '  Perfect 
fool.' 

*  Not  a  bit  of  him,'  returned  Michael.  '  He 
knows  who's  the  best  solicitor  in  London,  and  it's 
not  every  man  can  say  the  same.  But,  I  say,  didn't 
I  pitch  it  in  hot  ?  ' 

Pitman  returned  no  answer. 
'  Hullo  ! '  said  the  lawyer,  pausing,  *  what's  wrong 
with  the  long-suffering  Pitman  ? ' 

*  You  had  no  right  to  speak  of  me  as  you 
did,'   the   artist   broke   out ;    '  your   language   was 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   151 

perfectly  unjustifiable ;  you  have  wounded  me 
deeply.' 

'  I  never  said  a  word  about  you,'  replied  Michael. 
'- 1  spoke  of  Ezra  Thomas  ;  and  do  please  remember 
that  there's  no  such  party.' 

'  It's  just  as  hard  to  bear,'  said  the  artist. 

But  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  corner  of  the 
by-street ;  and  there  was  the  faithful  shoeblack,  stand- 
ing by  the  horses'  heads  with  a  splendid  assumption 
of  dignity  ;  and  there  was  the  piano,  figuring  forlorn 
upon  the  cart,  while  the  rain  beat  upon  its  unpro- 
tected sides  and  trickled  down  its  elegantly  varnished 
legs. 

The  shoeblack  was  again  put  in  requisition  to  bring 
five  or  six  strong  fellows  from  the  neighbouring 
public-house;  and  the  last  battle  of  the  campaign 
opened.  It  is  probable  that  Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth  had 
not  yet  taken  his  seat  in  the  train  for  Hampton 
Court,  before  Michael  opened  the  door  of  the  chambers, 
and  the  grunting  porters  deposited  the  Broad  wood 
grand  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

'  And  now,'  said  the  lawyer,  after  he  had  sent 
the  men  about  their  business,  '  one  more  precaution. 
We  must  leave  him  the  key  of  the  piano,  and  w^e 
must  contrive  that  he  shall  find  it.  Let  me  see.' 
And  he  built  a  square  tower  of  cigars  upon  the  top 


152  THE   WRONG  BOX 

of  the   instrument,  and  dropped  the   key  into  the 
middle. 

*Poor  young  man,'  said  the  artist,  as  they 
descended  the  stairs. 

*  He  is  in  a  devil  of  a  position,'  assented  Michael, 
drily.     *  It'll  brace  him  up.' 

*  And  that  reminds  me,'  observed  the  excellent 
Pitman,  *  that  I  fear  I  displayed  a  most  ungrateful 
temper.  I  had  no  right,  I  see,  to  resent  expressions, 
wounding  as  they  were,  which  were  in  no  sense 
directed.' 

*  That's  all  right,'  cried  Michael,  getting  on  the 
cart.  *  Not  a  word  more,  Pitman.  Very  proper 
feeling  on  your  part ;  no  man  of  self-respect  can 
stand  by  and  hear  his  al'ms  insulted.' 

The  rain  had  now  ceased,  Michael  was  fairly 
sober,  the  body  had  been  disposed  of,  and  the  friends 
were  reconciled.  The  return  to  the  mews  was  there- 
fore (in  comparison  with  previous  stages  of  the  day's 
adventures)  quite  a  holiday  outing ;  and  when  they 
had  returned  the  cart  and  walked  forth  again  from 
the  stable -yard,  unchallenged  and  even  unsuspected. 
Pitman  drew  a  deep  breath  of  joy. 

*  And  now,'  he  said,  '  we  can  go  home.' 

*  Pitman,'  said  the  lawyer,  stopping  short,  '  your 
recklessness  fills  me  with  concern.     What !  we  have 


MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY   153 

been  wet  through  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and 
you  propose,  in  cold  blood,  to  go  home !  No,  sir — 
hot  Scotch.' 

And  taking  his  friend's  arm  he  led  him  sternly 
toward  the  nearest  public-house.  ISTor  was  Pitman 
(I  regret  to  say)  wholly  unwilling.  Now  that  peace 
was  restored  and  the  body  gone,  a  certain  innocent 
skittishness  began  to  appear  in  the  manners  of  the 
artist ;  and  when  he  touched  his  steaming  glass  to 
Michael's,  he  giggled  aloud  like  a  venturesome 
school-girl  at  a  picnic. 


154  THE   WRONG  BOX 


CHAPTER  IX 

GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY's 
HOLIDAY 

I  KNOW  Michael  Finsbury  personally;  my  business — 
I  know  the  awkwardness  of  having  such  a  man  for 
a  lawyer — still  it's  an  old  story  now,  and  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  gratitude,  and,  in  short,  my  legal 
business,  although  now  (I  am  thankful  to  say)  of 
quite  a  placid  character,  remains  entirely  in  Michael's 
hands.  But  the  trouble  is  I  have  no  natural  talent 
for  addresses ;  I  learn  one  for  every  man — that  is 
friendship's  offering ;  and  the  friend  who  subsequently 
changes  his  residence  is  dead  to  me,  memory  refusing 
to  pursue  him.  Thus  it  comes  about  that,  as  I 
always  write  to  Michael  at  his  office,  I  cannot  swear 
to  his  number  in  the  King's  Road.  Of  course  (like 
my  neighbours),  I  have  been  to  dinner  there.  Of 
late  years,  since  his  accession  to  wealth,  neglect  of 
business,  and  election  to  the  club,  these  little  festivals 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY   155 

have  become  common.  He  picks  up  a  few  fellows  in 
the  smoking-room — all  men  of  Attic  wit—  myself,  for 
instance,  if  he  has  the  luck  to  find  me  disengaged ; 
a  string  of  hansoms  may  be  observed  (by  Her  Majesty) 
bowling  gaily  through  St.  James's  Park ;  and  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  the  party  surrounds  one  of  the 
best  appointed  boards  in  London. 

But  at  the  time  of  which  we  write  the  house  in 
the  King's  Road  (let  us  still  continue  to  call  it  No. 
233)  was  kept  very  quiet ;  when  Michael  entertained 
guests  it  was  at  the  halls  of  Nichol  or  Verrey  that 
he  would  convene  them,  and  the  door  of  his  private 
residence  remained  closed  against  his  friends.  The 
upper  story,  which  was  sunny,  was  set  apart  for  his 
father ;  the  drawing-room  was  never  opened ;  the 
dining-room  was  the  scene  of  Michael's  life.  It  is 
in  this  pleasant  apartment,  sheltered  from  the  curiosity 
of  King's  Road  by  wire  blinds,  and  entirely  sur- 
rounded by  the  lawyer's  unrivalled  library  of  poetry 
and  criminal  trials,  that  we  find  him  sitting  down  to 
his  dinner  after  his  holiday  with  Pitman.  A  spare 
old  lady,  with  very  bright  eyes  and  a  mouth 
humorously  compressed,  waited  upon  the  lawyer's 
needs ;  in  every  line  of  her  countenance  she  betrayed 
the  fact  that  she  was  an  old  retainer ;  in  every  word 
that  fell  from  her  lips  she  flaunted  the  glorious  cir- 


IS6  'a  HE    WRONG  BOX 

cumstance  of  a  Scottish  origin;  and  the  fear  with 
which  this  powerful  combination  fills  the  boldest  was 
obviously  no  stranger  to  the  bosom  of  our  friend. 
The  hot  Scotch  having  somewhat  warmed  up  the 
embers  of  the  Heidsieck,  it  was  touching  to  observe 
the  master's  eagerness  to  pull  himself  together  under 
the  servant's  eye ;  and  when  he  remarked,  '  I 
think,  Teena,  I'll  take  a  brandy  and  soda,'  he  spoke 
like  a  man  doubtful  of  his  elocution,  and  not  half 
certain  of  obedience. 

*  No  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Michael,'  was  the  prompt 
return.     ^  Clar't  and  water.* 

'  Well,  well,  Teena,  I  dare  say  you  know  best,' 
said  the  master.  *  Very  fatiguing  day  at  the  office, 
though.' 

*  What  ? '  said  the  retainer,  *  ye  never  were  near 
the  office ! ' 

*  Oh,  yes,  I  was  though  ;  I  was  repeatedly  along 
Fleet  Street,'  returned  Michael. 

*  Pretty  pliskies  ye've  been  at  this  day ! '  cried 
the  old  lady,  with  humorous  alacrity;  and  then, 
*  Take  care — don't  break  my  crystal ! '  she  cried,  as 
the  lawyer  came  within  an  ace  of  knocking  the 
glasses  off  the  table. 

*  And  how  is  he  keeping  ?  '  asked  Michael. 
*0h,  just  the  same,  Mr.  Michael,  just  the  way 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  157 

he'll  be  till  the  end,  worthy  man  ! '  was  the  reply. 
'  But  ye'll  not  be  the  first  that's  asked  me  that  the 
day.' 

^  No  ? '  said  the  lawyer.     '  Who  else  ? ' 

'  Ay,  that's  a  joke,  too,'  said  Teena  grimly.      '  A 
friend  of  yours  :  Mr.  Morris.' 

'-  Morris !      What   was  the   little   beggar   doing 
here  ? '  inquired  Michael. 

'  Wantin'  ?  To  see  him,'  replied  the  housekeeper, 
completing  her  meaning  by  a  movement  of  the  thumb 
toward  the  upper  story.  '  That's  by  his  way  of  it ; 
-^but  I've  an  idee  of  my  own.  He  tried  to  bribe 
me,  Mr.  Michael.  Bribe — me  !  '  she  repeated,  with 
inimitable  scorn.  '  That's  no  kind  of  a  young 
gentleman.' 

'  Did  he  so  ?  '  said  Michael.  '  I  bet  he  didn't  offer 
much.' 

'-  No  more  he  did,'  replied  Teena  ;  nor  could  any 
subsequent  questioning  elicit  from  her  the  sum  with 
which  the  thrifty  leather  merchant  had  attempted  to 
corrupt  her.  '  But  I  sent  him  about  his  business/ 
she  said  gallantly.  '  He'll  not  come  here  again  in  a 
hurry.' 

'  He  mustn't  see  my  father,  you  know ;  mind 
that ! '  said  Michael.  '  I'm  not  going  to  have  any 
public  exhibition  to  a  little  beast  like  him.' 


158  THE    WRONG  BOX 

'  No  fear  of  me  lettin'  him/  replied  the  trusty  one. 
*But  the  joke  is  this,  Mr.  Michael — see,  yeVe 
upsettin'  the  sauce,  that's  a  clean  table-cloth — the 
best  of  the  joke  is  that  he  thinks  your  father's  dead 
and  you're  keepin'  it  dark.* 

Michael  whistled.  '  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,* 
said  he. 

*  Exac'ly  what  I  told  him ! '  cried  the  delighted 
dame. 

*  111  make  him  dance  for  that,*  said  Michael. 

*  Couldn't  ye  get  the  law  of  him  some  way  ? ' 
suggested  Teena,  truculently. 

*  No,  I  don't  think  I  could,  and  I'm  quite  sure  I 
don't  want  to,'  replied  Michael.  *  But  I  say,  Teena, 
I  really  don't  believe  this  claret's  wholesome;  it's 
not  a  sound,  reliable  wine.  Give  us  a  brandy  and 
soda,  there's  a  good  soul.'  Teena's  face  became  like 
adamant.  'Well,  then,'  said  the  lawyer  fretfully, 
'  I  won't  eat  any  more  dinner.' 

*  Ye  can  please  yourself  about  that,  Mr.  Michael,* 
said  Teena,  and  began  composedly  to  take  away. 

'  I  do  wish  Teena  wasn't  a  faithful  servant !  * 
sighed  the  lawyer,  as  he  issued  into  King's  Eoad. 

The  rain  had  ceased;  the  wind  still  blew,  but 
only  with  a  pleasant  freshness;  the  town,  in  the 
clear  darkness  of  the  night,  glittered  with  street- 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  159 

lamps  and  slione  with  glancing  rain-pools.  ^  Come, 
this  is  better,'  thought  the  lawyer  to  himself,  and  he 
walked  on  eastward,  lending  a  pleased  ear  to  the 
wheels  and  the  million  footfalls  of  the  city. 

Near  the  end  of  the  King's  Road  he  remembered 
his  brandy  and  soda,  and  entered  a  flaunting  public- 
house.  A  good  many  persons  were  present,  a  water- 
man from  a  cab-stand,  half  a  dozen  of  the  chronically 
unemployed,  a  gentleman  (in  one  comer)  trying  to 
sell  gesthetic  photographs  out  of  a  leather  case  to 
another  and  very  youthful  gentleman  with  a  yellow 
goatee,  and  a  pair  of  lovers  debating  some  fine  shade 
(in  the  other).  But  the  centre-piece  and  great  attrac- 
tion was  a  little  old  man,  in  a  black,  ready-made 
Burtout,  which  was  obviously  a  recent  purchase.  On 
the  marble  table  in  front  of  him,  beside  a  sandwich 
and  a  glass  of  beer,  there  lay  a  battered  forage  cap. 
His  hand  fluttered  abroad  with  oratorical  gestures ; 
his  voice,  naturally  shrill,  was  plainly  tuned  to  the 
pitch  of  the  lecture-room ;  and  by  arts,  comparable 
to  those  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  he  was  now  holding 
spell-bound  the  barmaid,  the  waterman,  and  four  of 
the  unemployed. 

'  I  have  examined  all  the  theatres  in  London,'  he 
was  saying ;  '  and  pacing  the  principal  entrances,  I 
have  ascertained  them  to  be  ridiculously  dispropor- 


l6o  THE    WRONG  BOX 

tionate  to  the  requirements  of  their  audienres.  The 
doors  opened  the  wrong  way — I  forget  at  this 
moment  which  it  is,  but  have  a  note  of  it  at  home ; 
they  were  frequently  locked  during  the  performance, 
and  when  the  auditorium  was  literally  thronged  with 
English  people.  You  have  probably  not  had  my 
opportunities  of  comparing  distant  lands ;  but  I  can 
assure  you  this  has  been  long  ago  recognised  as  a 
mark  of  aristocratic  government.  Do  you  suppose, 
in  a  country  really  self-governed,  such  abuses  could 
exist  ?  Your  own  intelligence,  however  uncultivated, 
tells  you  they  could  not.  Take  Austria,  a  country 
even  possibly  more  enslaved  than  England.  I  have 
myself  conversed  with  one  of  the  survivors  of  the 
Ring  Theatre,  and  though  his  colloquial  German 
was  not  very  good,  I  succeeded  in  gathering  a  pretty 
clear  idea  of  his  opinion  of  the  case.  But  what  will 
perhaps  interest  you  still  more,  here  is  a  cutting  on 
the  subject  from  a  Vienna  newspaper,  which  I  will 
now  read  to  you,  translating  as  I  go.  You  can  see 
for  yourselves;  it  is  printed  in  the  German  cha- 
racter.' And  he  held  the  cutting  out  for  verification, 
much  as  a  conjurer  passes  a  trick  orange  along  the 
front  bench. 

'Hullo,    old    gentleman!    is    this    you?'    said 
Michael,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  orator's  shoulder. 


CONCLUSION  OF  FJNSBURY'S  HOLIDAY   i6i 

The  figure  turned  with  a  convulsion  of  alarm,  and 
showed  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury. 

'  You,  Michael ! '  he  cried.  '  There's  no  one  with 
you,  is  there  ? ' 

'No,'  replied  Michael,  ordering  a  brandy  and 
soda,  'there's  nobody  with  me;  whom  do  you 
expect  ? ' 

'I  thought  of  Morris  or  John,'  said  the  old 
gentleman,  evidently  greatly  relieved. 

'  What  the  devil  would  I  be  doing  with  Morris  or 
John  ? '  cried  the  nephew. 

'There  is  something  in  that,'  returned  Joseph. 
'  And  I  believe  I  can  trust  you.  I  believe  you  will 
stand  by  me.' 

'  I  hardly  know  what  you  mean,'  said  the  lawyer, 
'  but  if  you  are  in  need  of  money  I  am  flush.' 

'  It's  not  that,  my  dear  boy,'  said  the  uncle, 
shaking  him  by  the  hand.  '  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
afterward.' 

'  All  right,'  responded  the  nephew.  '  I  stand 
treat.  Uncle  Joseph  ;  what  will  you  have  ? ' 

'  In  that  case,'  replied  the  old  gentleman,  '  I'll 
take  another  sandwich.  I  dare  say  I  surprise  you, 
he  went  on,  '  with  my  presence  in  a  public-house ; 
but  the  fact  is  I  act  on  a  sound  but  little  known 
principle  of  my  own ' 

M 


1 62  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*0h,  it's  better  known  than  you  suppose,'  said 
Michael,  sipping  his  brandy  and  soda.  '  I  always 
act  on  it  myself  when  I  want  a  drink.' 

The  old  gentleman,  who  was  anxious  to  pro- 
pitiate Michael,  laughed  a  cheerless  laugh.  *You 
have  such  a  flow  of  spirits,'  said  he,  *I  am  sure 
I  often  find  it  quite  amusing.  But  regarding  this 
principle  of  which  I  was  about  to  speak.  It  is  that 
of  accommodating  one's  self  to  the  manners  of  any 
land  (however  humble)  in  which  our  lot  may  be 
cast.  Now,  in  France,  for  instance,  everyone  goes 
to  a  caf6  for  his  meals ;  in  America,  to  what  is  called 
a  "  two-bit  house  ; "  in  England  the  people  resort  to 
such  an  institution  as  the  present  for  refreshment. 
With  sandwiches,  tea,  and  an  occasional  glass  of 
bitter  beer,  a  man  can  live  luxuriously  in  London  for 
fourteen  pounds  twelve  shillings  per  annum.' 

^  Yes,  I  know,'  returned  Michael,  '  but  that's  not 
including  clothes,  washing,  or  boots.  The  whole 
thing,  with  cigars  and  occasional  sprees,  costs  me 
over  seven  hundred  a  year.' 

But  this  was  Michael's  last  interruption.  He 
listened  in  good-humoured  silence  to  the  remainder 
of  his  uncle's  lecture,  which  speedily  branched  to 
political  reform,  thence  to  the  theory  of  the  weather- 
glass, with  an  illustrative  account  of  a  bora  in  the 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  163 

Adriatic;  thence  again  to  the  best  manner  of  teach- 
ing arithmetic  to  the  deaf-and-dumb  ;  and  with  that, 
the  sandwich  being  then  no  more,  explicuit  valde 
feliciter.  A  moment  later  the  pair  issued  forth  on 
the  King's  Road. 

'  Michael,'  said  his  uncle,  ^  the  reason  that  I  am 
here  is  because  I  cannot  endure  those  nephews  of 
mine.     I  find  them  intolerable.' 

'  I  dare  say  you  do,'  assented  Michael,  '  I  never 
could  stand  them  for  a  moment.' 

'  They  wouldn't  let  me  speak,'  continued  the  old 
gentleman  bitterly ;  '  I  never  was  allowed  to  get  a 
word  in  edgewise  ;  I  was  shut  up  at  once  with  some 
impertinent  remark.  They  kept  me  on  short  allow- 
ance of  pencils,  when  I  wished  to  make  notes  of  the 
most  absorbing  interest ;  the  daily  newspaper  was 
guarded  from  me  like  a  young  baby  from  a  gorilla. 
Now,  you  know  me,  Michael.  I  live  for  my  calcula- 
tions ;  I  live  for  my  manifold  and  ever-changing  views 
of  life ;  pens  and  paper  and  the  productions  of  the 
popular  press  are  to  me  as  important  as  food  and 
drink;  and  my  life  was  growing  quite  intolerable 
when,  in  the  confusion  of  that  fortunate  railway 
accident  at  Browndean,  I  made  my  escape.  They 
must  think  me  dead,  and  are  trying  to  deceive  the 
world  for  the  chance  of  the  tontine.' 

M  2 


i64  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  By  the  way,  Low  do  you  stand  for  money  ?  * 
asked  Michael  kindly. 

^  Pecuniarily  speaking,  I  am  rich,'  returned  the 
old  man  with  cheerfulness.  '  I  am  living  at  present 
at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  a  year,  with  unlimited 
pens  and  paper ;  the  British  Museum  at  which  to  get 
books ;  and  all  the  newspapers  I  choose  to  read.  But 
it's  extraordinary  how  little  a  man  of  intellectual 
interest  requires  to  bother  with  books  in  a  progressive 
age.     The  newspapers  supply  all  the  conclusions.' 

*  I'll  tell  you  what,'  said  Michael,  *  come  and  stay 
with  me.' 

*  Michael,'  said  the  old  gentleman,  *  it's  very  kind 
of  you,  but  you  scarcely  understand  what  a  peculiar 
position  I  occupy.  There  are  some  little  financial 
complications ;  as  a  guardian,  my  efforts  were  not 
altogether  blessed ;  and  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point 
upon  the  matter,  I  am  absolutely  in  the  power  of 
that  vile  fellow,  Morris.' 

'  You  should  be  disguised,'  cried  Michael  eagerly  ; 
*  I  will  lend  you  a  pair  of  window-glass  spectacles 
and  some  red  side- whiskers.' 

'  I  had  already  canvassed  that  idea,'  replied  the 
old  gentleman,  '  but  feared  to  awaken  remark  in  my 
unpretentious  lodgings.  The  aristocracy,  I  am  well 
aware ' 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  165 

'  But  see  here,'  interrupted  Michael,  '  how  do  you 
come  to  have  any  money  at  all  ?  Don't  make  a 
stranger  of  me.  Uncle  Joseph  ;  I  know  all  about  the 
trust,  and  the  hash  you  made  of  it,  and  the  assign- 
ment you  were  forced  to  make  to  Morris.' 

Joseph  narrated  his  dealings  with  the  bank. 

'  Oh,  but  I  say,  this  won't  do,'  cried  the  lawyer. 
'  You've  put  your  foot  in  it.  You  had  no  right  to  do 
what  you  did.' 

'  The  whole  thing  is  mine,  Michael,'  protested  the 
old  gentleman.  '  I  founded  and  nursed  that  business 
on  principles  entirely  of  my  own.' 

'  That's  all  very  fine,'  said  the  lawyer  ;  ^  but  you 
made  an  assignment,  you  were  forced  to  make  it,  too ; 
even  then  your  position  was  extremely  shaky ;  but 
now,  my  dear  sir,  it  means  the  dock.' 

'  It  isn't  possible,'  cried  Joseph ;  '  the  law  cannot 
be  so  unjust  as  that?  ' 

^  And  the  cream  of  the  thing,'  interrupted  Michael, 
with  a  sudden  shout  of  laughter,  '  the  cream  of  the 
thing  is  this,  that  of  course  you've  downed  the  leather 
business !  I  must  say.  Uncle  Joseph,  you  have  strange 
ideas  of  law,  but  I  like  your  taste  in  humour.' 

'I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at,'  observed  Mr.  Fins- 
bury  tartly. 


i66  THE   WRONG  BOX 

'  And  talking  of  that,  has  Morris  any  power  to 
sign  for  the  firm  ?  '  asked  Michael. 

*  No  one  but  myself,'  replied  Joseph. 

*  Poor  devil  of  a  Morris !  Oh,  poor  devil  of  a 
Morris ! '  cried  the  lawyer  in  delight.  '  And  his 
keeping  up  the  farce  that  you're  at  home !  Oh, 
Morris,  the  Lord  has  delivered  you  into  my  hands ! 
Let  me  see,  Uncle  Joseph,  what  do  you  suppose  the 
leather  business  worth  ?  ' 

'  It  was  worth  a  hundred  thousand,'  said  Joseph 
bitterly,  *  when  it  was  in  my  hands.  But  then  there 
came  a  Scotchman — it  is  supposed  he  had  a  certain 
talent — it  was  entirely  directed  to  book-keeping — 
no  accountant  in  London  could  understand  a  word 
of  any  of  his  books ;  and  then  there  was  Morris, 
who  is  perfectly  incompetent.  And  now  it  is  worth 
very  little.  Morris  tried  to  sell  it  last  year;  and 
Pogram  &  Jarris  offered  only  four  thousand.' 

'  I  shall  turn  my  attention  to  leather,'  said 
Michael,  with  decision. 

'  You  ?  '  asked  Joseph.  ^  I  advise  you  not. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  whole  field  of  commerce 
more  surprising  than  the  fluctuations  of  the  leather 
market.  Its  sensitiveness  may  be  described  as 
morbid.' 


CONCLUSION  OF  FJNSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  167 

'  And  now,  Uncle  Joseph,  wliat  have  you  done 
with  all  that  money  ?  '  asked  the  lawyer. 

'  Paid  it  into  a  bank  and  drew  twenty  pounds,' 
answered  Mr.  Finsbury  promptly.     ^  Why  ?  ' 

'  Very  well,'  said  Michael.  *  To-morrow  I  shall 
send  down  a  clerk  with  a  cheque  for  a  hundred,  and 
he'll  draw  out  the  original  sum  and  return  it  to  the 
Anglo-Patagonian,  with  some  sort  of  explanation 
which  I  will  try  to  invent  for  you.  That  will  clear 
your  feet,  and  as  Morris  can't  touch  a  penny  of  it 
without  forgery,  it  will  do  no  harm  to  my  little 
scheme.' 

'  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  '  asked  Joseph, '  I  cannot 
live  upon  nothing.' 

'  Don't  you  hear  ? '  returned  Michael.  '  I  send 
you  a  cheque  for  a  hundred ;  which  leaves  you 
eighty  to  go  along  upon  ;  and  when  that's  done, 
apply  to  me  again.' 

^  I  would  rather  not  be  beholden  to  your  bounty 
all  the  same,'  said  Joseph,  biting  at  his  white 
moustache.  '  I  would  rather  live  on  my  own  money, 
since  I  have  it.' 

Michael  grasped  his  arm.  '  Will  nothing  make 
you  believe,'  he  cried,  '  that  I  am  trying  to  save  you 
from  Dartmoor  ? ' 

His  earnestness  staggered  the  old  man.     '  I  must 


i6fi  THE   WRONG  BOX 

turn  my  attention  to  law/  he  said  ;  *  it  will  be  a  new 
field  ;  for  though  of  course  I  understand  its  general 
principles,  I  have  never  really  applied  my  mind  to 
the  details,  and  this  view  of  yours,  for  example, 
comes  on  me  entirely  by  surprise.  But  you  may  be 
right,  and  of  course  at  my  time  of  life— for  I  am  no 
longer  young — any  really  long  term  of  imprisonment 
would  be  highly  prejudicial.  But,  my  dear  nephew, 
I  have  no  claim  on  you ;  you  have  no  call  to  support 
me.' 

*  That's  all  right,'  said  Michael ;  '  Y\\  probably 
get  it  out  of  the  leather  business.' 

And  having  taken  down  the  old  gentleman's 
address,  Michael  left  him  at  the  comer  of  a  street. 

'  What  a  wonderful  old  muddler ! '  he  reflected, 
*  and  what  a  singular  thing  is  life !  I  seem  to  be 
condemned  to  be  the  instrument  of  Providence.  Let 
me  see ;  what  have  I  done  to-day  ?  Disposed  of  a 
dead  body,  saved  Pitman,  saved  my  Uncle  Joseph, 
brightened  up  Forsyth,  and  drunk  a  devil  of  a  lot 
of  most  indifferent  liquor.  Let's  top  off  with  a 
visit  to  my  cousins,  and  be  the  instrument  of  Pro- 
vidence in  earnest.  To-morrow  I  can  turn  my 
attention  to  leather;  to-night,  I'll  just  make  it  lively 
for  'em  in  a  friendly  spirit.' 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  as  the  clocks 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINS  BURY' S  HOLIDAY   169 

were  striking  eleven,  the  instrument  of  Providence 
descended  from  a  hansom,  and  bidding  the  driver 
wait,  rapped  at  the  door  of  No.  16  John  Street. 

It  was  promptly  opened  by  Morris. 

'  Oh,  it's  you,  Michael,'  he  said,  carefully  block- 
ing up  the  narrow  opening :  '  it's  very  late.' 

Michael  without  a  word  reached  forth,  grasped 
Morris  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  gave  it  so  extreme 
a  squeeze  that  the  sullen  householder  fell  back. 
Profiting  by  this  movement,  the  lawyer  obtained  a 
footing  in  the  lobby  and  marched  into  the  dining- 
room,  with  Morris  at  his  heels. 

'  Where's  my  Uncle  Joseph  ? '  demanded  Michael, 
sitting  down  in  the  most  comfortable  chair. 

'  He's  not  been  very  well  lately,'  replied  Morris ; 
'  he's  staying  at  Browndean ;  John  is  nursing  him ; 
and  I  am  alone,  as  you  see.' 

Michael  smiled  to  himself.  '  I  want  to  see  him 
on  particular  business,'  he  said. 

'  You  can't  expect  to  see  my  uncle  when  you 
won't  let  me  see  your  father,'  returned  Morris. 

'Fiddlestick,'  said  Michael.  'My  father  is  my 
father ;  but  Joseph  is  just  as  much  my  uncle  as  he's 
yours ;  and  you  have  no  right  to  sequestrate  his 
person.' 

'  I  do  no  such  thing,'  said  Morris  doggedly.    '  He 


170  THE   WRONG  BOX 

is  not  well,  he  is  dangerously  ill  and  nobody  can  see 
him.' 

*I'll  tell  you  what,  then/  said  Michael.  'V\\ 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  I  have  come  down  like 
the  opossum,  Morris ;  I  have  come  to  compromise.' 

Poor  Morris  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  then  a 
flush  of  wrath  against  the  injustice  of  man's  destiny 
dyed  his  very  temples.  *  What  do  you  mean  ? '  he 
cried,  *I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it!*  And  when 
Michael  had  assured  him  of  his  seriousness,  *Well, 
then,*  he  cried,  with  another  deep  flush,  *  I  won't ; 
so  you  can  put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it.' 

*  Oho  ! '  said  Michael  queerly.  *  You  say  your 
uncle  is  dangerously  ill,  and  you  won't  conpromise? 
There's  something  very  fishy  about  that.' 

*  What  do  you  mean  ? '  cried  Morris  hoarsely. 

*  I  only  say  it's  fishy,'  returned  Michael,  *  that  is, 
pertaining  to  the  finny  tribe.' 

*  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  anything  ? '  cried 
Morris  stormily,  trying  the  high  hand. 

*  Insinuate  ? '  repeated  Michael.  *  Oh,  don't  let's 
begin  to  use  awkward  expressions !  Let  us  drown 
our  differences  in  a  bottle,  like  two  affable  kinsmen. 
The  Two  Affable  Kinsmen^  sometimes  attributed  to 
Shakespeare,'  he  added. 

Morris's  mind  was  labouring  like  a  mill.     '  Does 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  171 

lie  suspect  ?  or  is  this  chance  and  stuff  ?  Should  I 
soap,  or  should  I.  bully  ?  Soap,'  he  concluded.  'It 
gains  time.  Well,'  said  he  aloud,  and  with  rather  a 
painful  affectation  of  heartiness,  'it's  long  since 
we  have  had  an  evening  together,  Michael ;  and 
though  my  habits  (as  you  know)  are  very  temperate, 
I  may  as  well  make  an  exception.  Excuse  me  one 
moment,  till  I  fetch  a  bottle  of  whiskey  from  the 
cellar.' 

'  N'o  whiskey  for  me,'  said  Michael ;  '  a  little  of 
the  old  still  champagne  or  nothing.' 

For  a  moment  Morris  stood  irresolute,  for  the 
wine  was  very  valuable ;  the  next  he  had  quitted  the 
room  without  a  word.  His  quick  mind  had  perceived 
his  advantage ;  in  thus  dunning  him  for  the  cream 
of  the  cellar,  Michael  was  playing  into  his  hand. 
'  One  bottle  ? '  he  thought.  '  By  George,  I'll  give 
him  two  !  this  is  no  moment  for  economy  ;  and  once 
the  beast  is  drunk,  it's  strange  if  I  don't  wring  his 
secret  out  of  him.' 

With  two  bottles,  accordingly,  he  returned. 
Glasses  were  produced,  and  Morris  filled  them  with 
hospitable  grace. 

'  I  drink  to  you,  cousin ! '  he  cried  gaily. 
*  Don't  spare  the  wine-cup  in  my  house.' 

Michael  drank  his  glass  deliberately,  standing  at 


172  THE   WRONG  BOX 

the  table ;  filled  it  again,  and  returned  to  his  chair, 
carrying  the  bottle  along  with  him. 

*  The  spoils  of  war ! '  he  said  apologetically. 
*The  weakest  goes  to  the  wall.  Science,  Morris, 
science.'  Morris  could  think  of  no  reply,  and  for  an 
appreciable  interval  silence  reigned.  But  two  glasses 
of  the  still  champagne  produced  a  rapid  change  in 
Michael. 

*  There's  a  want  of  vivacity  about  you,  Morris,' 
he  observed.  *  You  may  be  deep  ;  but  I'll  be  hanged 
if  you're  vivacious ! ' 

*  What  makes  you  think  me  deep  ? '  asked  Morris, 
with  an  air  of  pleased  simplicity. 

*  Because  you  won't  compromise,'  said  the  lawyer. 
*  You're  deep  dog,  Morris,  very  deep  dog,  not  t'  com- 
promise— remarkable  deep  dog.  And  a  very  good 
glass  of  wine  ;  it's  the  only  respectable  feature  in  the 
Finsbury  family,  this  wine ;  rarer  thing  than  a  title 
— much  rarer.  Now,  a  man  with  glass  wine  like 
this  in  cellar,  I  wonder  why  won't  compromise  ?' 

'  Well,  xjou  wouldn'  compromise  before,  you  know,' 
said  the  smiling  Morris.     ^  Turn  about  is  fair  play.' 

'  I  wonder  why  1  wouldn'  compromise  ?  I  wonder 
why  ijou  wouldn'?'  inquired  Michael.  *I  wonder 
why  we  each  think  the  other  wouldn'  ?  'S  quite  a 
remarrable — remarkable  problem,'  he  added,  triumph- 


CONCLUSION  OF  J^INSBURY'S  HOLIDAY   173 

ing  over  oral  obstacles,  not  without  obvious  pride. 
'  Wonder  what  we  each  think — don't  you  ? ' 

'  What  do  you  suppose  to  have  been  my  reason  ?  ' 
asked  Morris  adroitly. 

Michael  looked  at  him  and  winked.  '  That's  cool,' 
said  he.  '  Next  thing,  you'll  ask  me  to  help  you  out 
of  the  muddle.  I  know  I'm  emissary  of  Providence, 
but  not  that  kind !  You  get  out  of  it  yourself,  like 
^sop  and  the  other  fellow.  Must  be  dreadful 
muddle  for  young  orphan  0'  forty ;  leather  business 
and  all!' 

'  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,'  said 
Morris. 

'  Not  sure  I  know  myself,'  said  Michael.  '  This 
is  exc'lent  vintage,  sir — exc'lent  vintage.  Nothing 
against  the  tipple.  Only  thing;  here's  a  valuable 
uncle  disappeared.  Now,  what  I  want  to  know : 
Where's  valuable  uncle  ?  ' 

'  I  have  told  you  :  he  is  at  Browndean,'  answered 
Morris,  furtively  wiping  his  brow,  for  these  repeated 
hints  began  to  tell  upon  him  cruelly. 

'Very  easy  say  Brown — Browndee — no'  so  easy 
after  all!'  cried  Michael.  'Easy  say;  any  thing's 
easy  say,  when  you  can  say  it.  What  I  don'  like's 
total  disappearance  of  an  uncle.  Not  business-like.' 
And  he  wagged  his  head. 


174  THE    WRONG  BOX 

'  It  is  all  perfectly  simple,'  returned  Morris,  with 
laborious  calm.  '  There  is  no  mystery.  He  stays  at 
Browndean,  where  he  got  a  shake  in  the  accident.' 

*  Ah ! '  said  Michael,  *  got  devil  of  a  shake ! ' 

'  Why  do  you  say  that  ? '  cried  Morris  sharply. 

*  Best  possible  authority.  Told  me  so  yourself,' 
said  the  laA'yer.  '  But  if  you  tell  me  contrary  now, 
of  course  I'm  bound  to  believe  either  the  one  story  or 
the  other.  Point  is — I've  upset  this  bottle,  still 
champagne's  exc'lent  thing  carpet — point  is,  is  valu- 
able uncle  dead — an' — bury  ? ' 

Morris  sprang  from  his  seat.  *  What's  that  you 
say  ? '  he  gasped. 

*  I  say  it's  exc'lent  thing  carpet,*  replied  Michael, 
rising.  *  Exc'lent  thing  promote  healthy  action  of 
the  skin.  Well,  it's  all  one,  anyway.  Give  my  love 
to  Uncle  Champagne.' 

'  You're  not  going  away  ? '  said  Morris. 

*  Awf 'ly  sorry,  ole  man.  Got  to  sit  up  sick  friend,' 
said  the  wavering  Michael. 

*  You  shall  not  go  till  you  have  explained  your 
hints,'  returned  Morris  fiercely.  '  What  do  you  mean  ? 
What  brought  you  here  ? ' 

'  No  offence,  I  trust,'  said  the  lawyer,  turning 
round  as  he  opened  the  door ;  '  only  doing  my  duty 
as  shemishery  of  Providence,' 


CONCLUSION  OF  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY  175 

Groping  his  way  to  the  front-door,  he  opened  it 
with  some  difficulty,  and  descended  the  steps  to  the 
hansom.  The  tired  driver  looked  up  as  he  ap- 
proached, and  asked  where  he  was  to  go  next. 

Michael  observed  that  Morris  had  followed  him 
to  the  steps ;  a  brilliant  inspiration  came  to  him. 
'  Anything  t'  give  pain,'  he  reflected.  ...  '  Drive 
Shcotlan'  Yard,'  he  added  aloud,  holding  to  the  wheel 
to  steady. himself;  Hhere's  something  devilish  fishy, 
cabby,  about  those  cousins.  Mush'  be  cleared  up  ! 
Drive  Shcotlan'  Yard.' 

'You  don't  mean  that,  sir,'  said  the  man,  with  the 
ready  sympathy  of  the  lower  orders  for  an  intoxicated 
gentleman.  '  I  had  better  take  you  home,  sir ;  you 
can  go  to  Scotland  Yard  to-morrow.' 

'  Is  it  as  friend  or  as  perfessional  man  you  advise 
me  not  to  go  Shcotlan'  Yard  t 'night  ? '  inquired 
Michael.  '  All  righ',  never  min'  Shcotlan'  Yard, 
drive  Gaiety  bar.' 

'  The  Gaiety  bar  is  closed,'  said  the  man. 

'  Then  home,'  said  Michael,  with  the  same  cheer- 
fulness. 

'  Where  to,  sir  ? ' 

'I  don't  remember,  I'm  sure,'  said  Michael, 
entering  the  vehicle,  '  drive  Shcotlan'  Yard  and  ask.' 

'  But  you'll  have  a  card,'  said  the  man,  through 


176  THE    WRONG  BOX 

the  little  aperture  in  the  top,  '  give  me  your  card- 
case/ 

*  What  imagi — imagination  in  a  cabby  ! '  cried 
the  lawyer,  producing  his  card-case,  and  handing  it 
to  the  driver. 

The  man  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  lamp.  '  Mr. 
Michael  Finsbury,  233  King's  Road,  Chelsea.  Is 
that  it,  sir  ? ' 

*  llight  you  are,'  cried  Michael,  '  drive  there  if 
you  can  see  way.* 


177 


CHAPTER  X 

GIDEON  FOESYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

The  reader  has  perhaps  read  that  remarkable  work, 
'  Who  Put  Back  the  Clock  ? '  by  E.  H.  B.,  which  ap- 
peared for  several  days  upon  the  railway  bookstalls 
and  then  vanished  entirely  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Whether  eating  Time  makes  the  chief  of  his  diet  out  of 
old  editions  ;  whether  Providence  has  passed  a  special 
enactment  on  behalf  of  authors ;  or  whether  these 
last  have  taken  the  law  into  their  own  hand,  bound 
themselves  into  a  dark  conspiracy  with  a  password, 
which  I  would  die  rather  than  reveal,  and  night  after 
night  sally  forth  under  some  vigorous  leader,  such  as 
Mr.  James  Payn  or  Mr.  Walter  Besant,  on  their 
task  of  secret  spoliation — certain  it  is,  at  least,  that 
the  old  editions  pass,  giving  place  to  new.  To  the 
proof,  it  is  believed  there  are  now  only  three  copies 
extant  of  '  Who  Put  Back  the  Clock  ? '  one  in  the 
British  Museum,  successfully  concealed  by  a  wrong 

N 


178  THE   WRONG  BOX 

entry  in  the  catalogue ;  another  in  one  of  the  cellars 
(the  cellar  where  the  music  accumulates)  of  the 
Advocates'  Library  at  Edinburgh;  and  a  third, 
bound  in  morocco,  in  the  possession  of  Gideon 
Forsyth.  To  account  for  the  very  different  fate 
attending  this  third  exemplar,  the  readiest  theory  is 
to  suppose  that  Gideon  admired  the  tale.  How  to 
explain  that  admiration  might  appear  (to  those  who 
have  perused  the  work)  more  difficult ;  but  the  weak- 
ness of  a  parent  is  extreme,  and  Gideon  (and  not  his 
uncle,  whose  initials  he  had  humorously  borrowed) 
was  the  author  of '  Who  Put  Back  the  Clock  ?  '  He 
had  never  acknowledged  it,  or  only  to  some  intimate 
friends  while  it  was  still  in  proof;  after  its  appear- 
ance and  alarming  failure,  the  modesty  of  the  novelist 
had  become  more  pressing,  and  the  secret  was  now 
likely  to  be  better  kept  than  that  of  the  authorship 
of  '  Waverley.' 

A  copy  of  the  work  (for  the  date  of  my  tale  is 
already  yesterday)  still  figured  in  dusty  solitude  in 
the  bookstall  at  Waterloo ;  and  Gideon,  as  he  passed 
with  his  ticket  for  Hampton  Court,  smiled  con- 
temptuously at  the  creature  of  his  thoughts.  What 
an  idle  ambition  was  the  author's !  How  far  beneath 
him  was  the  practice  of  that  childish  art !  With  his 
hand  closing  on  his  first  brief,  he  felt  himself  a  man 


FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND    179 

at  last ;  and  the  muse  wlio  presides  over  the  police 
romance,  a  lady  presumably  of  French  extraction 
fled  his  neighbourhood,  and  returned  to  join  the 
dance  round  the  springs  of  Helicon,  among  her 
Grecian  sisters. 

Robust,  practical  reflection  still  cheered  the 
young  barrister  upon  his  journey.  Again  and  again 
he  selected  the  little  country-house  in  its  islet  of 
great  oaks,  which  he  was  to  make  his  future  home. 
Like  a  prudent  householder,  he  projected  improve- 
ments as  he  passed ;  to  one  he  added  a  stable,  to 
another  a  tennis  court,  a  third  he  supplied  with  a 
becoming  rustic  boat-house. 

'  How  little  a  while  ago,'  he  could  not  but  reflect, 
^  I  was  a  careless  young  dog  with  no  thought  but  to 
be  comfortable  !  I  cared  for  nothing  but  boating 
and  detective  novels.  I  would  have  passed  an  old- 
fashioned  country-house  with  large  kitchen-garden, 
stabling,  boat-house,  and  spacious  offices,  without  so 
much  as  a  look,  and  certainly  would  have  made  no 
inquiry  as  to  the  drains.  How  a  man  ripens  with 
the  years ! ' 

The  intelligent  reader  will  perceive  the  ravages 
of  Miss  Hazeltine.  Gideon  had  carried  Julia  straight 
to  Mr.  Bloomfield's  house ;  and  that  gentleman,  hav- 
ing been  led  to  understand  she  was  the  victim  of 

N  2 


i8o  THE   WRONG  BOX 

oppression,  had  noisily  espoused  her  cause.  He 
worked  himself  into  a  fine  breathing  heat ;  in  which, 
to  a  man  of  his  temperament,  action  became  needful. 

'  I  do  not  know  which  is  the  worse,'  he  cried, 
*  the  fraudulent  old  villain  or  the  unmanly  young 
cab.  I  will  write  to  the  Tall  Mall  and  expose  them. 
Nonsense,  sir;  they  must  be  exposed !  It's  a  public 
duty.  Did  you  not  tell  me  the  fellow  was  a  Tory  ? 
Oh,  the  uncle  is  a  Radical  lecturer,  is  he  ?  No  doubt 
the  uncle  has  been  grossly  wronged.  But  of  course, 
as  you  say,  that  makes  a  change ;  it  becomes  scarce 
80  much  a  public  duty.' 

And  he  sought  and  instantly  found  a  fresh  outlet 
for  his  alacrity.  Miss  Hazeltine  (he  now  perceived) 
must  be  kept  out  of  the  way ;  his  houseboat  was 
lying  ready — he  had  returned  but  a  day  or  two  before 
from  his  usual  cruise ;  there  was  no  place  like  a 
houseboat  for  concealment ;  and  that  very  morning, 
in  the  teeth  of  the  easterly  gale,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bloom - 
field  and  Miss  Julia  Hazeltine  had  started  forth  on 
their  untimely  voyage.  Gideon  pled  in  vain  to  be 
allowed  to  join  the  party.  *  No,  Gid,'  said  his  uncle. 
'  You  will  be  watched ;  you  must  keep  away  from 
us.'  Nor  had  the  barrister  ventured  to  contest  this 
strange  illusion  ;  for  he  feared  if  he  rubbed  off  any 
of  the  romance,  that  Mr.  Bloomfield  might  weary  of 


FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND    i8i 

the  whole  affair.  And  his  discretion  was  rewarded ; 
for  the  Squirradical,  laying  a  heavy  hand  upon  his 
nephew's  shoulder,  had  added  these  notable  expres- 
sions :  '  I  see  what  you  are  after,  Gid.  But  if  you're 
going  to  get  the  girl,  you  have  to  work,  sir.' 

These  pleasing  sounds  had  cheered  the  barrister 
all  day,  as  he  sat  reading  in  chambers ;  they  con- 
tinued to  form  the  ground-base  of  his  manly  musings 
as  he  was  whirled  to  Hampton  Court ;  even  when  he 
landed  at  the  station,  and  began  to  pull  himself 
together  for  his  delicate  interview,  the  voice  of  uncle 
Ned  and  the  eyes  of  Julia  were  not  forgotten. 

But  now  it  began  to  rain  surprises:  in  all 
Hampton  Court,  there  was  no  Kurnaul  Villa,  no 
Count  Tarnow,  and  no  count.  This  was  strange; 
but,  viewed  in  the  light  of  the  incoherency  of  his 
instructions,  not  perhaps  inexplicable;  Mr.  Dick- 
son had  been  lunching,  and  he  might  have  made 
some  fatal  oversight  in  the  address.  What  was  the 
thoroughly  prompt,  manly,  and  business-like  step  ? 
thought  Gideon ;  and  he  answered  himself  at  once  : 
'  A  telegram,  very  laconic'  Speedily,  the  wires  were 
flashing  the  following  very  important  missive : 
'  Dickson,  Langham  Hotel.  Villa  and  persons  both 
unknown  here,  suppose  erroneous  address ;  follow 
self  next  train,      Forsyth.'     And  at  the  Langhana 


l83  THE    WRONG  BOX 

Hotel,  sure  enough,  with  a  brow  expressive  of  despatch 
and  intellectual  effort,  Gideon  descended"  not  long 
after  from  a  smoking  hansom. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  Gideon  will  ever  forget  the 
Langham  Hotel.  No  Count  Tamow  was  one  thing ; 
no  John  Dickson  and  no  Ezra  Thomas,  quite  another. 
How,  why,  and  what  next,  danced  in  his  bewildered 
brain ;  from  every  centre  of  what  we  playfully  call 
the  human  intellect,  incongruous  messages  were  tele- 
graphed ;  and  before  the  hubbub  of  dismay  had  quite 
subsided,  the  barrister  found  himself  driving  furiously 
for  his  chambers.  There  .was  at  least  a  cave  ot 
refuge ;  it  was  at  least  a  place  to  think  in  ;  and  he 
climbed  the  stair,  put  his  key  in  the  lock  and  opened 
the  door,  with  some  approach  to  hope. 

It  was  all  dark  within,  for  the  night  had  some 
time  fallen ;  but  Gideon  knew  his  room,  he  knew 
where  the  matches  stood  on  the  end  of  the  chimney 
piece ;  and  he  advanced  boldly,  and  in  so  doing 
dashed  himself  against  a  heavy  body,  where  (slightly 
altering  the  expressions  of  the  song)  no  heavy  body 
should  have  been.  Thete  had  been  nothing  there 
when  Gideon  went  out ;  he  had  locked  the  door  behind 
him,  he  had  found  it  locked  on  his  return,  no  one 
could  have  entered,  the  furniture  could  not  have 
changed  its  own  position.    And  yet  undeniably  there 


FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND    183 

was  a  something  there.  He  thrust  out  his  hands  in 
the  darkness.  Yes,  there  was  something,  something 
large,  something  smooth,  something  cold. 

'  Heaven  forgive  me  ! '  said  Gideon,  '  it  feels  like 
a  piano.' 

And  the  next  moment  he  remembered  the  vestas 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  had  struck  a  light. 

It  was  indeed  a  piano  that  met  his  doubtful  gaze ; 
a  vast  and  costly  instrument,  stained  with  the  rains 
of  the  afternoon  and  defaced  with  recent  scratches. 
The  light  of  the  vesta  was  reflected  from  the  var- 
nished sides,  like  a  star  in  quiet  water ;  and  in  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  the  shadow  of  that  strange 
visitor  loomed  bulkily  and  wavered  on  the  wall. 

Gideon  let  the  match  burn  to  his  fingers,  and 
the  darkness  close  once  more  on  his  bewilderment. 
Then  with  trembling  hands  he  lit  the  lamp  and  drew 
near.  Near  or  far,  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact : 
the  thing  was  a  piano.  There,  where  by  all  the  laws 
of  God  and  man  it  was  impossible  that  it  should  be — 
there  the  thing  impudently  stood.  Gideon  threw 
open  the  keyboard  and  struck  a  chord.  Not  a  sound 
disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  room.  '  Is  there  anything 
wrong  with  me  ?  '  he  thought,  with  a  pang ;  and 
drawing  in  a  seat,  obstinately  persisted  in  his 
attempts  to  ravish  silence,  now  with  sparkling  arpeg- 


1 84  THE   WRONG  BOX 

gios,  now  with  a  sonata  of  Beethoven's  which  (in 
happier  days)  he  knew  to  be  one  of  the  loudest  pieces 
of  that  powerful  composer.  Still  not  a  sound.  He 
gave  the  Broadwood  two  great  bangs  with  his 
clenched  fists.  All  was  still  as  the  grave. 
The  young  barrister  started  to  his  feet. 

*  I  am  stark-staring  mad,'  he  cried  aloud, '  and  no 
one  knows  it  but  myself.  God's  worst  curse  has 
fallen  on  me.' 

His  fingers  encountered  his  watch  chain ;  in- 
stantly he  had  plucked  forth  his  watch  and  held  it 
to  his  ear.     He  could  hear  it  ticking. 

*  I  am  not  deaf,'  he  said  aloud.  '  I  am  only 
insane.     My  mind  has  quitted  me  for  ever.' 

He  looked  uneasily  about  the  room,  and  gazed 
with  lack-lustre  eyes  at  the  chair  in  which  Mr. 
Dickson  had  installed  himself.  The  end  of  a  cigar 
lay  near  it  on  the  fender. 

*  No,'  he  thought,  *  I  don't  believe  that  was  a 
dream  ;  but  God  knows  my  mind  is  failing  rapidly. 
I  seem  to  be  hungry,  for  instance ;  it's  probably 
another  hallucination.  Still  I  might  try.  I  shall 
have  one  more  good  meal ;  I  shall  go  to  the  Cafe 
Royal,  and  may  possibly  be  removed  from  there 
direct  to  the  asylum.' 

He  wondered   with  morbid  interest,  as   he   de- 


FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND    185 

scended  the  stairs,  how  he  would  first  betray  his 
terrible  condition — would  he  attack  a  waiter?  or  eat 
glass  ? — and  when  he  had  mounted  into  a  cab,  he 
bade  the  man  drive  to  Nichol's,  with  a  lurking  fear 
that  there  was  no  such  place. 

The  flaring,  gassy  entrance  of  the  cafe  speedily  set 
his  mind  at  rest ;  he  was  cheered  besides  to  recognise 
his  favourite  waiter ;  his  orders  appeared  to  be  cohe- 
rent ;  the  dinner,  when  it  came,  was  quite  a  sensible 
meal,  and  he  ate  it  with  enjoyment.  '-  Upon  my  word,' 
he  reflected,  '  I  am  about  tempted  to  indulge  a  hope. 
Have  I  been  hasty  ?  Have  I  done  what  Robert  Skill 
would  have  done  ? '  Robert  Skill  (I  need  scarcely 
mention)  was  the  name  of  the  principal  character  in 
'-  Who  Put  Back  the  Clock  ? '  It  had  occurred  to  the 
author  as  a  brilliant  and  probable  invention ;  to 
readers  of  a  critical  turn,  Robert  appeared  scarce 
upon  a  level  with  his  surname ;  but  it  is  the  difiiculty 
of  the  police  romance,  that  the  reader  is  always  a 
man  of  such  vastly  greater  ingenuity  than  the  writer. 
In  the  eyes  of  his  creator,  however,  Robert  Skill  was 
a  word  to  conjure  with  ;  the  thought  braced  and 
spurred  him  ;  what  that  brilliant  creature  would  have 
done,  Gideon  would  do  also.  This  frame  of  mind  is 
not  uncommon :  the  distressed  general,  the  baited 
divine,  the  hesitating  author  decide  severally  to  do 


1 86  THE   WRONG  BOX 

what  Napoleon,  what  St.  Paul,  what  Shakespeare 
would  have  done  ;  and  there  remains  only  the  minor 
question.  What  is  that?  In  Gideon's  case  one  thing 
was  clear :  Skill  was  a  man  of  singular  decision,  he 
would  have  taken  some  step  (whatever  it  was)  at 
once  ;  and  the  only  step  that  Gideon  could  think  of 
was  to  return  to  his  chambers. 

This  being  achieved,  all  further  inspiration  failed 
him,  and  he  stood  pitifully  staring  at  the  instrument 
of  his  confusion.  To  touch  the  keys  again  was  more 
than  he  durst  venture  on ;  whether  they  had  main- 
tained their  former  silence,  or  responded  with  the 
tones  of  the  last  trump,  it  would  have  equally  de- 
throned his  resolution.  '  It  may  be  a  practical  jest,' 
he  reflected,  *  though  it  seems  elaborate  and  costly. 
And  yet  what  else  can  it  be  ?  It  mxuii  be  a  practical 
jest.'  And  just  then  his  eye  fell  upon  a  feature 
which  seemed  corroborative  of  that  view;  the 
pagoda  of  cigars  which  Michael  had  erected  ere  he 
left  the  chambei's.  'Why  that?'  reflected  Gideon. 
*  It  seems  entirely  irresponsible.'  And  drawing  near, 
he  gingerly  demolished  it.  'A  key,'  he  thought. 
'  Why  that  ?  And  why  so  conspicuously  placed  ?  ' 
He  made  the  circuit  of  the  instrument,  and  per- 
ceived the  keyhole  at  the  back.  '  Aha !  this  is  what 
the  key  is  for,'  said  he.     '  They  wanted  me  to  look 


FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND    187 

inside.  Stranger  and  stranger.'  And  with  that,  he 
turned  the  key  and  raised  the  lid. 

In  what  antics  of  agony,  in  what  fits  of  flighty 
resolution,  in  what  collapses  of  despair,  Gideon  con- 
sumed the  night,  it  would  be  ungenerous  to  inquire 
too  closely. 

That  trill  of  tiny  song  with  which  the  eaves-birds 
of  London  welcome  the  approach  of  day,  found  him 
limp  and  rumpled  and  bloodshot,  and  with  a  mind 
still  vacant  of  resource.  He  rose  and  looked  forth 
unrejoicingly  on  blinded  windows,  an  empty  street, 
and  the  grey  daylight  dotted  with  the  yellow  lamps. 
There  are  mornings  when  the  city  seems  to  awake 
with  a  sick  headache;  this  was  one  of  them;  and 
still  the  twittering  reveille  of  the  sparrows  stirred 
in  Gideon's  spirit. 

'  Day  here,'  he  thought,  ^  and  I  still  helpless  ! 
This  must  come  to  an  end.'  And  he  locked  up  the 
piano,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  set  forth  in 
quest  of  coffee.  As  he  went,  his  mind  trudged  for 
the  hundredth  time  a  certain  mill-road  of  terrors, 
misgivings,  and  regrets.  To  call  in  the  police,  to 
give  up  the  body,  to  cover  London  with  handbills 
describing  John  Dickson  and  Ezra  Thomas,  to  fill 
the  papers  with  paragraphs,  Mijstei^ioiis  Occurrence  in 
the   Temple — Mr.  Forsyth  admitted  to  bail^  this  was 


1 88  THE    WRONG  BOX 

one  course,  an  easy  course,  a  safe  course ;  but  not, 
the  more  he  reflected  on  it,  not  a  pleasant  one.  For, 
was  it  not  to  publish  abroad  a  number  of  singular 
facts  about  himself^?  A  child  ought  to  have  seen 
through  the  story  of  these  adventurers,  and  he  had 
gaped  and  swallowed  it.  A  barrister  of  the  least 
self-respect  should  have  refused  to  listen  to  clients 
who  came  before  him  in  a  manner  so  irregular,  and 
he  had  listened.  And  oh,  if  he  had  only  listened  ; 
but  he  had  gone  upon  their  errand — he,  a  barrister, 
uninstructed  even  by  the  shadow  of  a  solicitor — 
upon  an  errand  fit  only  for  a  private  detective  ;  and 
alas  ! — and  for  the  hundredth  time  the  blood  surged 
to  his  brow — he  liad  taken  their  money!  'No,' 
said  he,  '  the  thing  is  as  plain  as  St.  Paul's.  I  shall 
be  dishonoured!  I  have  smashed  my  career  for  a 
five -pound  note.' 

Between  the  possibility  of  being  hanged  in  all 
innocence,  and  the  certainty  of  a  public  and  merited 
disgrace,  no  gentleman  of  spirit  could  long  hesitate. 
After  three  gulps  of  that  hot,  snuffy,  and  muddy 
beverage,  that  passes  on  the  streets  of  London  for 
a  decoction  of  the  coffee  berry,  Gideon's  mind  was 
made  up.  He  would  do  without  the  police.  He  must 
face  the  other  side  of  the  dilemma,  and  be  Eobert 
Skill  in  earnest.      What  would  Robert  Skill  have 


FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND    1S9 

done  ?  How  does  a  gentleman  dispose  of  a  dead 
body,  honestly  come  by  ?  He  remembered  the 
inimitable  story  of  the  hunchback ;  reviewed  its 
course,  and  dismissed  it  for  a  worthless  guide.  It 
was  impossible  to  prop  a  corpse  on  the  corner 
of  Tottenham  Court  Eoad,  without  arousing  fatal 
curiosity  in  the  bosoms  of  the  passers  by ;  as  for  lower- 
ing it  down  a  London  chimney,  the  physical  obstacles 
were  insurmountable.  To  get  it  on  board  a  train 
and  drop  it  out,  or  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus  and 
drop  it  off,  were  equally  out  of  the  question.  To  get 
it  on  a  yacht  and  drop  it  overboard,  was  more  con- 
ceivable ;  but  for  a  man  of  moderate  means  it  seemed 
extravagant.  The  hire  of  the  yacht  was  in  itself  a 
consideration ;  the  subsequent  support  of  the  whole 
crew  (which  seemed  a  necessary  consequence)  was 
simply  not  to  be  thought  of.  His  uncle  and  the 
houseboat  here  occurred  in  very  luminous  colours  to 
his  mind.  A  musical  composer  (say,  of  the  name 
of  Jimson)  might  very  well  suffer,  like  Hogarth's 
musician  before  him,  from  the  disturbances  of  London. 
He  might  very  well  be  pressed  for  time  to  finish  an 
opera — say  the  comic  opera '  Orange  Pekoe ' — '  Orange 
Pekoe,'  music  by  Jimson — '  this  young  maestro,  one 
of  the  most  promising  of  our  recent  English  school ' 
— vigorous  entrance  of  the  drums,  &c. — the   whole 


190  THE   WRONG  BOX 

character  of  Jirason  and  his  music  arose  in  bulk 
before  the  mind  of  Gideon.  What  more  likely  than 
Jimson's  arrival  with  a  grand  piano  (say,  at  Padwick), 
and  his  residence  in  a  houseboat  alone  with  the 
unfinished  score  of  '  Orange  Pekoe  '  ?  His  subsequent 
disappearance,  leaving  nothing  behind  but  an  empty 
piano  case,  it  might  be  more  difficult  to  account  for. 
And  yet  even  that  was  susceptible  of  explanation. 
For,  suppose  Jimson  had  gone  mad  over  a  fugal 
passage,  and  had  thereupon  destroyed  the  accomplice 
of  his  infamy,  and  plunged  into  the  welcome  river? 
What  end,  on  the  whole,  more  probable  for  a  modern 
musician  ? 

*  By  Jove,  I'll  do  it,'  cried  Gideon.      '  Jimson  is 
the  boy ! ' 


191 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE   MAESTRO   JIMSON 


Mr.  Edward  Hugh  Bloomfield  having  announced 
liis  intention  to  stay  in  tlie  neighbourhood  of  Maiden- 
head, what  more  probable  than  that  the  Maestro 
Jimson  should  turn  his  mind  toward  Padwick  ?  Near 
this  pleasant  riverside  village  he  remembered  to  have 
observed  an  ancient,  weedy  houseboat  lying  moored 
beside  a  tuft  of  willows.  It  had  stirred  in  him,  in 
his  careless  hours,  as  he  pulled  down  the  river  under 
a  more  familiar  name,  a  certain  sense  of  the  romantic; 
and  when  the  nice  contrivance  of  his  story  was  al- 
ready complete  in  his  mind,  he  had  come  near  pulling 
it  all  down  again,  like  an  ungrateful  clock,  in  order 
to  introduce  a  chapter  in  which  Robert  Skill  (who 
was  always  being  decoyed  somewhere)  should  be  de- 
coyed on  board  that  lonely  hulk  by  Lord  Bellew  and 
the  American  desperado  Gin  Sling.  It  was  fortunate 
he  had  not  done  so,  he  reflected,  since  the  hulk  was 
now  required  for  very  different  purposes. 


192  THE   WRONG  BOX 

Jimson,  a  man  of  inconspicuous  costume,  but  in- 
sinuating manners,  had  little  difficulty  in  finding  the 
hireling  who  had  charge  of  the  houseboat,  and  still 
less  in  persuading  him  to  resign  his  care.  The  rent 
was  almost  nominal,  the  entry  immediate,  the  key 
was  exchanged  against  a  suitable  advance  in  money, 
and  Jimson  returned  to  town  by  the  afternoon  train 
to  see  about  despatching  his  piano. 

'  I  will  be  down  to-morrow,'  he  had  said  reassur- 
ingly. *  My  opera  is  waited  for  with  such  impatience, 
you  know.' 

And,  sure  enough,  about  the  hour  of  noon  on  the 
following  day,  Jimson  might  have  been  observed 
ascending  the  riverside  road  that  goes  from  Padwick 
to  Great  Haverham,  carrying  in  one  hand  a  basket 
of  provisions,  and  under  the  other  arm  a  leather  case 
containing  (it  is  to  be  conjectured)  the  score  of 
*  Orange  Pekoe.'  It  was  October  weather;  the  stone- 
grey  sky  was  full  of  larks,  the  leaden  mirror  of  the 
Thames  brightened  with  autumnal  foliage,  and  the 
fallen  leaves  of  the  chestnuts  chirped  under  the  com- 
poser's footing.  There  is  no  time  of  the  year  in 
England  more  courageous ;  and  Jimson,  though  he 
was  not  without  his  troubles,  whistled  as  he  went. 

A  little  above  Padwick  the  river  Hes  very  solitary. 
On  the  opposite  shore  the  trees  of  a  private  park  en- 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMS  ON  193 

close  the  view,  the  chimneys  of  the  mansion  just 
pricking  forth  above  their  clusters  ;  on  the  near  side 
the  path  is  bordered  by  willows.  Close  among  these 
lay  the  houseboat,  a  thing  so  soiled  by  the  tears  of 
the  overhanging  willows,  so  grown  upon  with  para- 
sites, so  decayed,  so  battered,  so  neglected,  such  a 
haunt  of  rats,  so  advertised  a  storehouse  of  rheumatic 
agonies,  that  the  heart  of  an  intending  occupant 
might  well  recoil.  A  plank,  by  way  of  flying  draw- 
bridge, joined  it  to  the  shore.  And  it  was  a  dreary 
moment  for  Jimson  when  he  pulled  this  after  him 
and  found  himself  alone  on  this  unwholesome  fortress. 
He  could  hear  the  rats  scuttle  and  flop  in  the  ab- 
horred interior ;  the  key  cried  among  the  wards  like 
a  thing  in  pain ;  the  sitting-room  was  deep  in  dust, 
and  smelt  strong  of  bilge  water.  It  could  not  be 
called  a  cheerful  spot,  even  for  a  composer  absorbed 
in  beloved  toil ;  how  much  less  for  a  young  gentle- 
man haunted  by  alarms  and  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
a  corpse  ! 

He  sat  down,  cleared  away  a  piece  of  the  table, 
and  attacked  the  cold  luncheon  in  his  basket.  In 
case  of  any  subsequent  inquiry  into  the  fate  of  Jim- 
son,  it  was  desirable  he  should  be  little  seen;  in 
other  words,  that  he  should  spend  the  day  entirely 
in  the  house.    To  this  end,  and  further  to  corroborate 

o 


194  THE   WRONG  BOX 

his  fable,  he  had  brought  in  the  leather  case  not 
only  writing  materials,  but  a  ream  of  large-size  music 
paper,  such  as  he  considered  suitable  for  an  ambitious 
character  like  Jimson's. 

*  And  now  to  work/  said  he,  when  he  had  satis- 
fied his  appetite.  *  We  must  leave  traces  of  the 
wretched  man's  activity.'  And  he  wrote  in  bold 
characters : 

ORANGE  PEKOE. 

Qf>.  17. 

J.   B.   JIMSOW. 

Vocal  and  p,  f.  score. 

*  I  suppose  they  never  do  begin  like  this,'  re- 
flected Gideon ;  *  but  then  it's  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  me  to  tackle  a  full  score,  and  Jimson  was 
so  unconventional.  A  dedication  would  be  found 
(Convincing,  I  believe.  "  Dedicated  to  "  (let  me  see) 
"  to  William  Ewart  Gladstone,  by  his  obedient  ser- 
vant the  composer."  And  now  some  music :  I  had 
better  avoid  the  overture ;  it  seems  to  present  diffi- 
culties. Let's  give  an  air  for  the  tenor:  key — oh, 
something  modem ! — seven  sharps.'  And  he  made  a 
business-like  signature  across  the  staves,  and  then 
paused  and  browsed  for  a  while  on  the  handle  of  his 
pen.     Melody,   with   no   better   inspiration  than  a 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  195 

sheet  of  paper,  is  not  usually  found  to  spring  un- 
bidden in  the  mind  of  the  amateur;  nor  is  the  key 
of  seven  sharps  a  place  of  much  repose  to  the  untried. 
He  cast  away  that  sheet.  '  It  will  help  to  build  up 
the  character  of  Jimson,'  Gideon  remarked,  and  again 
waited  on  the  muse,  in  various  keys  and  on  divers 
sheets  of  paper,  but  all  with  results  so  inconsiderable 
that  he  stood  aghast.  '  It's  very  odd,'  thought  he. 
'  I  seem  to  have  less  fancy  than  I  thought,  or  this  is 
an  off-day  with  me  ;  yet  Jimson  must  leave  some- 
thing.'    And  again  he  bent  himself  to  the  task. 

Presently  the  penetrating  chill  of  the  houseboat 
began  to  attack  the  very  seat  of  life.  He  desisted 
from  his  unremunerative  trial,  and,  to  the  audible 
annoyance  of  the  rats,  walked  briskly  up  and  down 
the  cabin.  Still  he  was  cold.  '  This  is  all  nonsense,' 
said  he.  '  I  don't  care  about  the  risk,  but  I  will  not 
catch  a  catarrh.     I  must  get  out  of  this  den.' 

He  stepped  on  deck,  and  passing  to  the  bow  of 
his  embarkation,  looked  for  the  first  time  up  the 
river.  He  started.  Only  a  few  hundred  yards  above 
another  houseboat  lay  moored  among  the  willows. 
It  was  very  spick  and  span,  an  elegant  canoe  hung 
at  the  stern,  the  windows  were  concealed  by  snowy 
curtains,  a  flag  floated  from  a  staff".  The  more  Gideon 
looked  at  it,  the  more  there  mingled  with  his  disgust 

o2 


196  THE   WRONG  BOX 

a  sense  of  impotent  surprise.  It  was  very  like  his 
uncle's  houseboat ;  it  was  exceedingly  like — it  was 
identical.  But  for  two  circumstances,  he  could  have 
sworn  it  was  the  same.  The  first,  that  his  uncle  had 
gone  to  Maidenhead,  might  be  explained  away  by 
that  flightiness  of  purpose  which  is  so  common  a  trait 
among  the  more  than  usually  manly.  The  second, 
however,  was  conclusive ;  it  was  not  in  the  least  like 
Mr.  Bloomfield  to  display  a  banner  on  his  floating 
residence ;  and  if  he  ever  did,  it  would  certainly  be 
dyed  in  hues  of  emblematical  propriety.  Now  the 
Squirradical,  like  the  vast  majority  of  the  more 
manly,  had  drawn  knowledge  at  the  wells  of  Cam- 
bridge—he was  wooden  spoon  in  the  year  1850;  and 
the  flag  upon  the  houseboat  streamed  on  the  afternoon 
air  with  the  colours  of  that  seat  of  Toryism,  that 
cradle  of  Puseyism,  that  home  of  the  inexact  and  the 
effete — Oxford. 

Still  it  was  strangely  like,  thought  Gideon. 

And  as  he  thus  looked  and  thought,  the  door 
opened,  and  a  young  lady  stepped  forth  on  deck. 
The  barrister  dropped  and  fled  into  his  cabin — it  was 
Julia  Hazeltine !  Through  the  window  he  watched 
her  draw  in  the  canoe,  get  on  board  of  it,  cast  off, 
and  come  dropping  down  stream  in  his  direction. 

'  Well,  all  is  up  now/  said  he,  and  he  fell  on  a  seat. 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  197 

'  Good  afternoon,  miss,'  said  a  voice  on  the  water. 
Gideon  knew  it  for  the  voice  of  his  landlord. 

'  Good  afternoon,'  replied  Julia,  '  but  I  don't 
know  who  you  are ;  do  I  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  do  though. 
You  are  the  nice  man  that  gave  us  leave  to  sketch 
from  the  old  houseboat.' 

Gideon's  heart  leaped  with  fear. 

'  That's  it,'  returned  the  man.  '  And  what  I 
wanted  to  say  was  as  you  couldn't  do  it  any  more. 
You  see  I've  let  it.' 

'  Let  it ! '  cried  Julia. 

'  Let  it  for  a  month,'  said  the  man.  ^  Seems  strange, 
don't  it  ?    Can't  see  what  the  party  wants  with  it !  ' 

'  It  seems  very  romantic  of  him,  I  think,'  said 
Julia.     '  What  sort  of  a  person  is  he  ?  ' 

Julia  in  her  canoe,  the  landlord  in  his  wherry, 
wore  close  alongside,  and  holding  on  by  the  gunwale 
of  the  houseboat ;  so  that  not  a  word  was  lost  on 
Gideon. 

'He's  a  music  man,'  said  the  landlord,  'or  at 
least  that's  what  he  told  me,  miss ;  come  down  here 
to  write  an  op'ra.' 

'  Really  ! '  cried  Julia,  '  I  never  heard  of  anything 
so  delightful !  Why,  we  shall  be  able  to  slip  down  at 
night  and  hear  him  improvise  !    What  is  his  name  ?  ' 

'  Jimson,'  said  the  man. 


198  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  Jimson  ? '  repeated  Julia,  and  interrogated  her 
memory  in  vain.  But  indeed  our  rising  school  of 
English  music  boasts  so  many  professors  that  wo 
rarely  hear  of  one  till  he  is  made  a  baronet.  '•  Are 
you  sure  you  have  it  right  ?  ' 

^  Made  him  spell  it  to  me,'  replied  the  landlord. 
*  J-I-M-S-O-N — Jimson;  and  his  op'ra's  called — 
some  kind  of  tea.' 

*  Some  Mnd  of  tea ! '  cried  the  girl.  *  What  a 
very  singular  name  for  an  opera !  What  can  it  bo 
about?'  And  Gideon  heard  her  pretty  laughter 
flow  abroad.  '  We  must  try  to  get  acquainted  with 
this  Mr.  Jimson ;  I  feel  sure  he  must  be  nice.' 

*  Well,  miss,  I'm  afraid  I  must  be  going  on. 
I've  got  to  be  at  Haverhara,  you  see.' 

'  Oh,  don't  let  me  keep  you,  you  kind  man ! '  said 
Julia.     '  Good  aftenioon.' 

'  Good  afternoon  to  you,  miss.' 

Gideon  sat  in  the  cabin  a  prey  to  the  most  har- 
rowing thoughts.  Here  he  was  anchored  to  a  rotting 
houseboat,  soon  to  be  anchored  to  it  still  more  em- 
phatically by  the  presence  of  the  corpse ;  and  here 
was  the  country  buzzing  about  him,  and  young  ladies 
already  proposing  pleasure  parties  to  surround  his 
house  at  night.  Well,  that  meant  the  gallows ;  and 
much  he  cared  for  that.     What  troubled  him  now 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  199 

was  Julia's  indescribable  levity.  That  girl  would 
scrape  acquaintance  with  anybody ;  she  had  no  re- 
serve, none  of  the  enamel  of  the  lady.  She  w^as 
familiar  with  a  brute  like  his  landlord ;  she  took 
an  immediate  interest  (which  she  lacked  even  the 
delicacy  to  conceal)  in  a  creature  like  Jimson!  He' 
could  conceive  her  asking  Jimson  to  have  tea  with 
her !     And  it  was  for  a  girl  like  this  that  a  man  like 

Gideon Down,  manly  heart ! 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  sound  that  sent  him 
whipping  behind  the  door  in  a  trice.  Miss  Hazeltine 
had  stepped  on  board  the  houseboat.  Her  sketch 
was  promising ;  judging  from  the  stillness,  she  sup- 
posed Jimson  not  yet  come  ;  and  she  had  decided  to 
seize  occasion  and  complete  the  work  of  art.  Down 
she  sat  therefore  in  the  bow,  produced  her  block 
and  water-colours,  and  was  soon  singing  over  (what 
used  to  be  called)  the  ladylike  accomplishment. 
Now  and  then  indeed  her  song  was  interrupted,  as 
she  searched  in  her  memory  for  some  of  the  odious 
little  receipts  by  means  of  which  the  game  is  prac- 
tised—or used  to  be  practised  in  the  brave  days  of 
old;  they  say  the  world,  and  those  ornaments  of  the 
world,  young  ladies,  are  become  more  sophisticated 
now  ;  but  Julia  had  probably  studied  under  Pitman, 
and  she  stood  firm  in  the  old  ways. 


200  THE   WRONG  BOX 

Gideon,  meanwhile,  stood  behind  the  door,  afraid 
to  move,  afraid  to  breathe,  afraid  to  think  of  what 
must  follow,  racked  by  confinement  and  borne  to  the 
ground  with  tedium.  This  particular  phase,  he  felt 
with  gratitude,  could  not  last  for  ever;  whatever 
impended  (even  the  gallows,  he  bitterly  and  perhaps 
erroneously  reflected)  could  not  fail  to  be  a  relief. 
To  calculate  cubes  occurred  to  him  as  an  ingenious 
and  even  profitable  refuge  from  distressing  thoughts, 
and  he  threw  his  manhood  into  that  dreary  exercise. 

Thus,  then,  were  these  two  young  persons  occu- 
pied— Gideon  attacking  the  perfect  number  with 
resolution ;  Julia  vigorously  stippling  incongruous 
colours  on  her  block,  when  Providence  despatched 
into  these  waters  a  steam  launch  asthmatically 
panting  up  the  Thames.  All  along  the  banks  the 
water  swelled  and  fell,  and  the  reeds  rustled.  The 
houseboat  itself,  that  ancient  stationary  creature, 
became  suddenly  imbued  with  life,  and  rolled  briskly 
at  her  moorings,  like  a  sea-going  ship  when  she 
begins  to  smell  the  harbour  bar.  The  wash  had 
nearly  died  away,  and  the  quick  panting  of  the 
launch  sounded  already  faint  and  far  off,  when 
Gideon  was  startled  by  a  cry  from  Julia.  Peering 
through  the  window,  he  beheld  her  staring  discon- 
solately down  stream   at  the  fast-vajiishing  canoe, 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  201 

The  barrister  (whatever  were  his  faults)  displayed 
on  this  occasion  a  promptitude  worthy  of  his  hero, 
Robert  Skill ;  with  one  effort  of  his  mind  he  foresaw 
what  was  about  to  follow ;  with  one  movement  of  his 
body  he  dropped  to  the  floor  and  crawled  under  the 
table. 

Julia,  on  her  part,  was  not  yet  alive  to  her 
position.  She  saw  she  had  lost  the  canoe,  and  she 
looked  forward  with  something  less  than  avidity  to 
her  next  interview  with  Mr.  Bloomfield ;  but  she  had 
no  idea  that  she  was  imprisoned,  for  she  knew  of  the 
plank  bridge. 

She  made  the  circuit  of  the  house,  and  found  the 
door  open  and  the  bridge  withdrawn.  It  was  plain, 
then,  that  Jimson  must  have  come ;  plain,  too,  that 
he  must  be  on  board.  He  must  be  a  very  shy  man 
to  have  suffered  this  invasion  of  his  residence,  and 
made  no  sign  ;  and  her  courage  rose  higher  at  the 
thought.  He  must  come  now,  she  must  force  him 
from  his  privacy,  for  the  plank  was  too  heavy  for  her 
single  strength ;  so  she  tapped  upon  the  open  door. 
Then  she  tapped  again.. 

'-  Mr.  Jimson,'  she  cried,  '  Mr.  Jimson !  here, 
come  ! — you  must  come,  you  know,  sooner  or  later, 
for  I  can't  get  off  without  you.  Oh,  don't  be  so 
exceedingly  silly !     Oh,  please,  come ! ' 


502  THE    WRONG  BOX 


Still  there  was  no  reply.* 

*  If  he  M  here  he  must  be  mad/  she  thought,  with 
a  little  fear.  And  the  next  moment  she  remembered 
he  had  probably  gone  abroad  like  herself  in  a  boat. 
In  that  case,  she  might  as  well  see  the  houseboat, 
and  she  pushed  open  the  door  and  stepped  in. 
Under  the  table,  where  he  lay  smothered  with  dust, 
Gideon's  heart  stood  still. 

There  were  the  remains  of  Jimson's  lunch.  *  He 
likes  rather  nice  things  to  eat,'  she  thought.  '  Oh, 
I  am  sure  he  is  quite  a  delightful  man.  I  wonder  if 
he  is  as  good-looking  as  Mr.  Forsyth.  Mrs.  Jimson 
— I  don't  believe  it  sounds  as  nice  as  Mrs.  Forsyth  ; 
but  then  "  Gideon  "  is  so  really  odious !  And  here 
is  some  of  his  music  too ;  this  is  delightful.  "  Orange 
Pekoe  " — oh,  that's  what  he  meant  by  some  kind  of 
tea.*  And  she  trilled  with  laughter.  '  Adagio  molto 
ef^pressivo,  sempre  legato,*  she  read  next.  (For  the 
literary  part  of  a  composer's  business  Gideon  was 
well  equipped.)  '  How  very  strange  to  have  all 
these  directions,  and  only  three  or  four  notes  !  Oh, 
here's  another  with  some  more.  Andante  paieticoJ 
And  she  began  to  glance  over  the  music.  '  0  dear 
me,'  she  thought,  '  he  must  be  terribly  modern  !  It 
all  seems  discords  to  me.  Let's  try  the  air.  It  is 
very  strange,  it  seems  familiar.'     She  began  to  sing 


THE  MAESTRO  JIM  SON  203 

it,  and  suddenly  broke  off  witli  laughter.  '  Why, 
it's  "  Tommy  make  room  for  your  Uncle  !  "  she  cried 
aloud,  so  that  the  soul  of  Gideon  was  filled  with 
bitterness.  '  Andanie  patetico^  indeed  !  The  man 
must  be  a  mere  impostor.' 

And  just  at  this  moment  there  came  a  confused, 
scuffling  sound  from  underneath  the  table ;  a  strange 
note,  like  that  of  a  barn-door  fowl,  ushered  in  a  most 
explosive  sneeze  ;  the  head  of  the  sufferer  was  at  the 
same  time  brought  smartly  in  contact  with  the 
boards  above ;  and  the  sneeze  was  followed  by  a 
hollow  groan. 

Julia  fled  to  the  door,  and  there,  with  the  salu- 
tary instinct  of  the  brave,  turned  and  faced .  the 
danger.  There  was  no  pursuit.  The  sounds  con- 
tinued ;  below  the  table  a  crouching  figure  was 
indistinctly  to  be  seen  jostled  by  the  throes  of  a 
sneezing  fit ;  and  that  was  all. 

'  Surely,'  thought  Julia,  '  this  is  most  unusual 
behaviour.     He  cannot  be  a  man  of  the  world  ! ' 

Meanwhile  the  dust  of  years  had  been  disturbed 
by  the  young  barrister's  convulsions ;  and  the  sneezing 
fit  was  succeeded  by  a  passionate  access  of  coughing. 

Julia  began  to  feel  a  certain  interest.  'I  am 
afraid  you  are  really  quite  ill,'  she  said,  drawing  a 
little  nearer.     '  Please  don't  let  me  put  you  out,  and 


204  THE   WRONG  BOX 

do  not  stay  under  that  table,  Mr.  Jimson.     Indeed 
it  cannot  be  good  for  you.' 

Mr.  Jimson  only  answered  by  a  distressing  cough ; 
and  the  next  moment  the  girl  was  on  her  knees,  and 
their  faces  had  almost  knocked  together  under  the 
table. 

*  Oh,  my  gracious  goodness !  *  exclaimed  Miss 
Hazeltine,  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  *  Mr.  Forsyth 
gone  mad !  * 

*I  am  not  mad,*  said  the  gentleman  ruefully, 
extricating  himself  from  his  position.  *  Dearest  Miss 
Hazeltine,  I  vow  to  you  upon  my  knees  I  am  not  mad!  * 

*  You  are  not ! '  she  cried,  panting. 

'  I  know,'  he  said,  *  that  to  a  superficial  eye  my 
conduct  may  appear  unconventional.' 

*  If  you  are  not  mad,  it  was  no  conduct  at  all,* 
cried  the  girl,  with  a  flash  of  colour,  '  and  showed 
you  did  not  care  one  penny  for  my  feelings ! ' 

*  This  is  the  very  devil  and  all.  I  know — I  admit 
that,*  cried  Gideon,  with  a  great  effort  of  manly 
candour. 

*  It  was  aboniinable  conduct ! '  said  Julia,  with 
energy. 

*  I  know  it  must  have  shaken  your  esteem,'  said 
the  barrister.  *  But,  dearest  Miss  Hazeltine,  I  beg 
of  you  to  hear  me  out ;  my  behaviour,  strange  as  it 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  205 

may  seem,  is  not  unsusceptible  of  explanation ;  and 
I  positively  cannot  and  will  not  consent  to  continue 
to  try  to  exist  without  —without  the  esteem  of  one 
whom  I  admire — the  moment  is  ill-chosen,  I  am  well 
aware  of  that;  but  I  repeat  the  expression — one 
whom  I  admire.' 

A  touch  of  amusement  appeared  on  Miss  Hazel- 
tine's  face.  '  Very  well,'  said  she,  ^  come  out  of  this 
dreadfully  cold  place,  and  let  us  sit  down  on  deck.' 
The  barrister  dolefully  followed  her.  'Now,'  said 
she,  making  herself  comfortable  against  the  end  of 
the  house,  ^  go  on.  I  will  hear  you  out.'  And  then, 
seeing  him  stand  before  her  with  so  much  obvious 
disrelish  to  the  task,  she  was  suddenly  overcome  with 
laughter.  Julia's  laugh  was  a  thing  to  ravish  lovers; 
she  rolled  her  mirthful  descant  with  the  freedom  and 
the  melody  of  a  blackbird's  song  upon  the  river,  and 
repeated  by  the  echoes  of  the  further  bank,  it  seemed 
a  thing  in  its  own  place  and  a  sound  native  to  the 
open  air.  There  was  only  one  creature  who  heard  it 
without  joy,  and  that  was  her  unfortunate  admirer. 

'  Miss  Hazel  tine,'  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  tottered 
with  annoyance,  '  I  speak  as  your  sincere  well-wisher, 
but  this  can  only  be  called  levity.' 

Julia  made  great  eyes  at  him. 

'I  can't  withdraw  the  word/  he  said:  'already 


2o6  THE    WRONG  BOX 

the  freedom  with  which  I  heard  you  hobnobbing  witli 
a  boatman  gave  me  exquisite  pain.     Then  there  was 

a  want  of  reserve  about  Jimson '  . 

'  But  Jimson  appears  to  be  yourself,'  objected  Julia. 

*  I  am  far  from  denying  that,'  cried  the  barrister, 
'  but  you  did  not  know  it  at  the  time.  What  could 
Jimson  be  to  you  ?  Who  was  Jimson  ?  Miss  Hazel- 
tine,  it  cut  me  to  the  heart.' 

*  Really  this  seems  to  me  to  be  very  silly,' 
returned  Julia,  with  severe  decision.  ^You  have 
behaved  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner ;  you 
pretend  you  are  able  to  explain  your  conduct,  and 
instead  of  doing  so  you  begin  to  attack  me.' 

*  I  am  well  aware  of  that,'  replied  Gideon.  *  I — 
I  will  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  When  you  know 
all  the  circumstances  you  will  be  able  to  excuse  me.' 

And  sitting  down  beside  her  on  the  deck,  he 
poured  forth  his  miserable  history. 

*  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth,'  she  cried,  when  he  had  done, 
*  I  am — so — sorry  !  I  wish  I  hadn't  laughed  at  you 
— only  you  know  you  really  were  so  exceedingly 
funny.  But  I  wish  I  hadn't,  and  I  wouldn't  either 
if  I  had  only  known.'     And  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

Gideon  kept  it  in  his  own.  '  You  do  not  think 
the  worse  of  me  for  this  ? '  he  asked  tenderly. 

'  Because  you  have  been  so  silly  and  got  into  such 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  207 

dreadful  trouble  ?  you  poor  boy,  no  ! '  cried  Julia ; 
and  in  the  warmtli  of  the  moment,  reached  him  her 
other  hand ;  '  you  may  count  on  me,'  she  added. 

'  Eeally  ?  '  said  Gideon. 

'  Eeally  and  really  !  '  replied  the  girl. 

'  I  do  then,  and  I  will,'  cried  the  young  man.  '  I 
admit  the  moment  is  not  well  chosen ;  but  I  have  no 
friends — to  speak  of.' 

'  No  more  have  I,'  said  Julia.  '-  But  don't  you  think 
it's  perhaps  time  you  gave  me  back  my  hands  ? ' 

^  La  d  darem  la  mano,^  said  the  barrister,  '  the 
merest  moment  more !  I  have  so  few  friends,'  he  added. 

'  I  thought  it  was  considered  such  a  bad  account 
of  a  young  man  to  have  no  friends,'  observed  Julia. 

'  Oh,  but  I  have  crowds  o^  friends  ! '  cried  Gideon. 
^  That's  not  what  I  mean.  I  feel  the  moment  is  ill 
chosen ;  but  oh,  Julia,  if  you  could  only  see  yourself!' 

'  Mr.  Forsyth ' 

'  Don't  call  me  by  that  beastly  name ! '  cried  the 
youth.     '  Call  me  Gideon ! ' 

^  Oh,  never  that ! '  from  Julia.  '  Besides,  we  have 
known  each  other  such  a  short  time.' 

'  Not  at  all ! '  protested  Gideon.  ^  We  met  at 
Bournemouth  ever  so  long  ago.  I  never  forgot  you 
since.  Say  you  never  forgot  me.  Say  you  never 
forgot  me,  and  call  me  Gideon ! ' 


208  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  Isn't  this  rather — a  want  of  reserve  about  Jim- 
son  ? '  inquired  the  girl. 

'  Oh,  I  know  I  am  an  ass/  cried  the  barrister, 
*  and  I  don't  care  a  halfpenny !  I  know  I'm  an  ass, 
and  you  may  laugh  at  me  to  your  heart's  delight.' 
And  as  Julia's  lips  opened  with  a  smile,  he  once  more 
dropped  into  music.  *  There's  the  Land  of  CheiTy 
Isle  ! '  he  sang,  courting  her  with  his  eyes. 

*  It's  like  an  opera,'  said  Julia,  rather  faintly. 

*  What  should  it  be  ? '  said  Gideon.  *  Am  I  not 
Jimson  ?  It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not  serenade 
my  love.  Oh,  yes,  I  mean  the  word,  my  Julia  ;  and 
I  mean  to  win  you.  I  am  in  dreadful  trouble,  and  I 
have  not  a  penny  of  my  own,  and  I  have  cut  the 
silliest  figure;  and  yet  I  mean  to  win  you,  Julia. 
Look  at  me,  if  you  can,  and  tell  me  no ! ' 

She  looked  at  him ;  and  whatever  her  eyes  may 
have  told  him,  it  is  to  be  supposed  he  took  a  pleasure 
in  the  message,  for  he  read  it  a  long  while. 

*  And  Uncle  Ned  will  give  us  some  money  to  go 
on  upon  in  the  meanwhile,'  he  said,  at  last. 

*  Well,  I  call  that  cool ! '  said  a  cheerful  voice  at 
his  elbow. 

Gideon  and  Julia  sprang  apart  with  wonderful 
alacrity ;  the  latter  annoyed  to  observe  that  although 
they  had  never  moved  since  they  sat  down,  they  were 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON  loc^ 

now  quite  close  together ;  both  presenting  faces  of  a, 
very  heightened  colour  to  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Edward 
Hugh  Bloomfield.  That  gentleman,  coming  up  the 
river  in  his  boat,  had  captured  the  truant  canoe,  and 
divining  what  had  happened,  had  thought  to  steal  a 
march  upon  Miss  Hazeltine  at  her  sketch.  He  had 
unexpectedly  brought  down  two  birds  with  one  stone  ; 
and  as  he  looked  upon  the  pair  of  flushed  and  breath- 
less culprits,  the  pleasant  human  instinct  of  the 
match-maker  softened  his  heart. 

'  Well,  I  call  that  cool,'  he  repeated  ;  '  you  seem 
to  count  very  securely  upon  Uncle  Ned.  But  look 
here,  Gid,  I  thought  I  had  told  you  to  keep  away  ? ' 

'  To  keep  away  from  Maidenhead,'  replied  Gid. 
'  But  how  should  I  expect  to  find  you  here  ?  ' 

'There  is  something  in  that,'  Mr.  Bloomfield 
admitted.  'You  see  I  thought  it  better  that  even 
you  should  be  ignorant  of  my  address ;  those  rascals, 
the  Finsburys,  would  have  wormed  it  out  of  you. 
And  just  to  put  them  off  the  scent  I  hoisted  these 
abominable  colours.  But  that  is  not  all,  Gid  ;  you 
promised  me  to  work,  and  here  I  find  you  playing 
the  fool  at  Padwick.' 

'  Please,  Mr.  Bloomfield,  you  must  not  be  hard  on 
Mr.  Forsyth,'  said  Julia.  '  Poor  boy,  he  is  in  dread- 
ful straits.' 

P 


210  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  What's  this,  Gid  ?  *  inquired  the  uncle.  '  Have 
you  been  fighting  ?  or  is  it  a  bill  ?  ' 

These,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Squirradical,  were  the 
two  misfortunes  incident  to  gentlemen  ;  and  indeed 
both  were  culled  from  his  own  career.  He  had  once 
put  his  name  (as  a  matter  of  form)  on  a  friend's  paper ; 
it  had  cost  him  a  cool  thousand ;  and  the  friend  had 
gone  about  with  the  fear  of  death  upon  him  ever 
since,  and  never  turned  a  corner  without  scouting  in 
front  of  him  for  Mr.  Bloomfield  and  the  oaken  staff. 
As  for  fighting,  the  Squirradical  was  always  on  the 
brink  of  it ;  and  once,  when  (in  the  character  of  pre- 
sident of  a  Radical  club)  he  had  cleared  out  the  hall 
of  his  opponents,  things  had  gone  even  further.  Mr. 
Holtum,  the  Conservative  candidate,  who  lay  so  long 
on  the  bed  of  sickhess,  was  prepared  to  swear  to  Mr. 
Bloomfield.  *  I  will  swear  to  it  in  any  court — it  was 
the  hand  of  that  brute  that  struck  me  down,'  he  was 
reported  to  have  said ;  and  when  he  was  thought  to 
be  sinking,  it  was  known  that  he  had  made  an  ante- 
mortem  statement  in  that  sense.  It  was  a  cheerful 
day  for  the  Squirradical  when  Holtum  was  restored 
to  his  brewery. 

*  It's  much  worse  than  that,'  said  Gideon ;  ^  a 
combination  of  circumstances  really  providentially 
unjust — a — in  fact,  a  syndicate  of  murderers  seem 
to  have  perceived  my  latent  ability  to  rid  them  of 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMS  ON  211 

the  traces  of  their  crime.  It's  a  legal  study  after 
all,  you  see ! '  And  with  these  words,  Gideon,  for 
the  second  time  that  day,  began  to  describe  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  Broadwood  Grand. 

^  I  must  write  to  the  ''Times,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield. 

'  Do  you  want  to  get  me  disbarred?'  asked  Gideon. 

'  Disbarred  !  Come,  it  can't  be  as  bad  as  that,' 
said  his  uncle.  '  It's  a  good,  honest,  Liberal  Govern- 
ment that's  in,  and  they  would  certainly  move  at  my 
request.  Thank  God,  the  days  of  Tory  jobbery  are 
at  an  end.' 

'  It  wouldn't  do,  Uncle  Ned,'  said  Gideon. 

'  But  you're  not  mad  enough,'  cried  Mr.  Bloom- 
field,  '  to  persist  in  trying  to  dispose  of  it  yourself? ' 

'  There  is  no  other  path  open  to  me,'  said  Gideon. 

'  It's  not  common-sense,  and  I  will  not  hear  of  it,' 
cried  Mr.  Bloomfield.  '  I  command  you,  positively, 
Gid,  to  desist  from  this  criminal  interference.' 

'Very  well,  then,  I  hand  it  over  to  you,'  said 
Gideon, '  and  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  the  dead 
body.' 

'  God  forbid ! '  ejaculated  the  president  of  the 
Radical  Club,  '  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.' 

'  Then  you  must  allow  me  to  do  the  best  I  can,' 
returned  his  nephew.  '  Believe  me,  I  have  a  distinct 
talent  for  this  sort  of  difficulty.' 

p  2 


212  THE    WRONG  BOX 

'We  might  forward  it  to  that  pest-house,  the 
Conservative  Club,'  observed  Mr.  Bloorafield.  '  It 
might  damage  them  in  the  eyes  of  their  constituents; 
and  it  could  be  profitably  worked  up  in  the  local 
journal.' 

*  If  you  see  any  political  capital  in  the  thing,' 
said  Gideon,  *  you  may  have  it  for  me.' 

*  No,  no,  Gid — no,  no,  I  thought  you  might.  I 
will  have  no  hand  in  the  thing.  On  reflection,  it's 
highly  undesirable  that  either  I  or  Miss  Hazeltine 
should  linger  here.  We  might  be  observed,'  said  the 
president,  looking  up  and  down  the  river ;  *  and  in 
my  public  position  the  consequences  would  be  painful 
for  the  party.     And,  at  any  rate,  it's  dinner  time.' 

'  What  ?  *  cried  Gideon,  plunging  for  his  watch. 
*  And  so  it  is !  Great  heaven,  the  piano  should  have 
been  here  hours  ago  ! ' 

Mr.  Bloomfield  was  clambering  back  into  his 
boat ;  but  at  these  words  he  paused. 

*  I  saw  it  arrive  myself  at  the  station  ;  I  hired  a 
carrier  man  ;  he  had  a  round  to  make,  but  he  was  to 
be  here  by  four  at  the  latest,'  cried  the  barrister.  ^  No 
doubt  the  piano  is  open,  and  the  body  found.' 

'  You  must  fly  at  once,'  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield, '  it's 
the  only  manly  step.' 

'  But   suppose   it's   all   right  ? '   wailed   Gideon, 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMS  ON  213 

^  Suppose  the  piano  comes,  and  I  am  not  here  to 
receive  it  ?  I  shall  have  hanged  myself  by  my 
cowardice.  No,  Uncle  Ned,  inquiries  must  be  made 
in  Padwick  ;  I  dare  not  go,  of  course ;  but  you  may 
— you  could  hang  about  the  police  office,  don't  you 
see  ? ' 

'  No,  Gid — no,  my  dear  nephew,'  said  Mr.  Bloom- 
field,  with  the  voice  of  one  on  the  rack.  '  I  regard 
you  with  the  most  sacred  affection ;  and  I  thank  God 
I  am  an  Englishman — and  all  that.  But  not — not 
the  police,  Gid.' 

'  Then  you  desert  me  ? '  said  Gideon.  '  Say  it 
plainly.' 

'  Far  from  it !  far  from  it ! '  protested  Mr.  Bloom- 
field.  ^  I  only  propose  caution.  Common-sense, 
Gid,  should  always  be  an  Englishman's  guide.' 

'  Will  you  let  me  speak  ? '  said  Julia.  ^  I  think 
Gideon  had  better  leave  this  dreadful  houseboat,  and 
wait  among  the  willows  over  there.  If  the  piano 
comes,  then  he  could  step  out  and  take  it  in  ;  and  if 
the  police  come,  be  could  slip  into  our  houseboat,  and 
there  needn't  be  any  more  Jimson  at  all.  He  could 
go  to  bed,  and  we  could  burn  his  clothes  (couldn't 
we?)  in  the  steam  launch;  and  then  really  it  seems 
as  if  it  would  be  all  right.  Mr.  Bloomfield  is  so 
respectable,  you  know,  and  such  a  leading  character, 


214  THE   WRONG  BOX 

it  would  be  quite  impossible  even  to  fancy  that  lie 
could  be  mixed  up  with  it.' 

^  This  young  lady  has  strong  common-sense/  said 
the  Squirradical. 

*  Oh,  I  don't  think  I'm  at  all  a  fool,'  said  Julia, 
with  conviction. 

*  But  what  if  neither  of  them  come  ? '  asked 
Gideon ;  *  what  shall  I  do  then  ? ' 

'  Why  then,'  said  she,  *  you  had  better  go  down 
to  the  village  after  dark;  and  I  can  go  with  you,  and 
then  I  am  sure  you  could  never  be  suspected ;  and 
even  if  you  were,  I  could  tell  them  it  was  altogether 
a  mistake.' 

*  I  will  not  permit  that — I  will  not  suffer  Miss 
Hazeltine  to  go,'  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield. 

'  Why  ?  '  asked  Julia. 

Mr.  Bloomfield  had  not  the  least  desire  to  tell  her 
why,  for  it  was  simply  a  craven  fear  of  being  drawn 
himself  into  the  imbroglio;  but  with  the  usual  tactics 
of  a  man  who  is  ashamed  of  himself,  he  took  the 
high  hand.  *God  forbid,  my  dear  Miss  Hazeltine, 
that  I  should  dictate  to  a  lady  on  the  question  of 
propriety '  he  began. 

'  Oh,  is  that  all  ? '  interrupted  Julia.  *  Then  we 
must  go  all  three.' 

'  Caught ! '  thought  the  Squirradical. 


:i5 


CHAPTER  XII 

POSITIVELY   THE   LAST   APPEAEANCE   OF   THE 
BROADWOOD   GRAND 

England  is  supposed  to  be  unmusical ;  but  without 
dwelling  on  the  patronage  extended  to  the  organ- 
grinder,  without  seeking  to  found  any  argument  on 
the  prevalence  of  the  Jew's  trump,  there  is  surely  one 
instrument  that  may  be  said  to  be  national  in  the 
fullest  acceptance  of  the  word.  The  herdboy  in  the 
broom,  already  musical  in  the  days  of  Father 
Chaucer,  startles  (and  perhaps  pains)  the  lark  with 
this  exiguous  pipe ;  and  in  the  hands  of  the  skilled 
bricklayer, 

The  thing  becomes  a  trumpet,  whence  he  blows 

(as  a  general  rule)  either  '  The  British  Grenadiers,' 
Or  '  Cherry  Ripe.'  The  latter  air  is  indeed  the 
shibboleth  and  diploma  piece  of  the  penny  whistler ; 
I  hazard  a  guess  it  was  originally  composed  for  this 
instrument.     It    is    singular    enough   that   a   man 


2i6  THE  WRONG  BOX 

should  be  able  to  gain  a  livelihood,  or  even  to  tide 
over  a  period  of  unemployment,  by  the  display  of 
his  proficiency  upon  the  penny  whistle ;  still  more 
so,  that  the  professional  should  almost  invariably 
confine  himself  to  '  Cherry  Ripe/  But  indeed, 
singularities  surround  the  subject,  thick  like  black- 
berries. Why,  for  instance,  should  the  pipe  be 
called  a  penny  whistle  ?  I  think  no  one  ever  bought 
it  for  a  penny.  Why  should  the  alternative  name 
be  tin  whistle?  I  am  grossly  deceived  if  it  be 
made  of  tin.  Lastly,  in  what  deaf  catacomb,  in 
what  earless  desert,  does  the  beginner  pass  the  ex- 
cruciating interval  of  his  apprenticeship  ?  We  have 
all  heard  people  learning  the  piano,  the  fiddle,  and 
the  cornet;  but  the  young  of  the  penny  whistler 
(like  that  of  the  salmon)  is  occult  from  observation  ; 
he  is  never  heard  until  proficient;  and  providence 
(perhaps  alarmed  by  the  works  of  Mr.  Mallock) 
defends  human  hearing  from  his  first  attempts  upon 
the  upper  octave. 

A  really  noteworthy  thing  was  taking  place  in  a 
green  lane,  not  far  from  Pad  wick.  On  the  bench  of 
a  carrier's  cart  there  sat  a  tow-headed,  lanky, 
modest-looking  youth  ;  the  reins  were  on  his  lap ; 
the  whip  lay  behind  him  in  the  interior  of  the  cart ; 
the  horse  proceeded  without  guidance  or  encourage- 


LAST  OF  THE  BROADWOOD   GRAND     217 

ment;  the  carrier  (or  the  carrier's  man),  rapt  into 
a  higher  sphere  than  that  of  his  daily  occupations, 
his  looks  dwelling  on  the  skies,  devoted  himself 
wholly  to  a  brand  new  D  penny  whistle,  whence  he 
diffidently  endeavoured  to  elicit  that  pleasing  melody 
'The  Ploughboy.'  To  any  observant  person  who 
should  have  chanced  to  saunter  in  that  lane,  the 
hour  would  have  been  thrilling.  '  Here  at  last,'  he 
would  have  said,  '  is  the  beginner.' 

The  tow-headed  youth  (whose  name  was  Harker) 
had  just  encored  himself  for  the  nineteenth  time, 
when  he  was  struck  into  the  extreme  of  confusion 
by  the  discovery  that  he  was  nofc  alone. 

'  There  you  have  it !  '  cried  a  manly  voice  from 
the  side  of  the  road.  '  That's  as  good  as  I  want  to 
hear.  Perhaps  a  leetle  oilier  in  the  run,'  the  voice 
suggested,  with  meditative  gusto.    '  Give  it  us  again.' 

Harker  glanced,  from  the  depths  of  his  humilia- 
tion, at  the  speaker.  He  beheld  a  powerful,  sun- 
brown,  clean-shaven  fellow,  about  forty  years  of  age, 
striding  beside  the  cart  with  a  non-commissioned 
military  bearing,  and  (as  he  strode)  spinning  in  the 
air  a  cane.  The  fellow's  clothes  were  very  bad,  but 
he  looked  clean  and  self-reliant. 

'  I'm  only  a  beginner,'  gasped  the  blushing 
Harker,  '- 1  didn't  think  anybody  could  hear  me.' 


2i8  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  Well,  I  like  that ! '  returned  the  other.  *  You're 
a  pretty  old  beginner.  Come,  I'll  give  you  a  lead 
myself.     Give  us  a  seat  here  beside  you.' 

The  next  moment  the  military  gentleman  was 
perched  on  the  cart,  pipe  in  hand.  He  gave  the 
instrument  a  knowing  rattle  on  the  shaft,  mouthed 
it,  appeared  to  commence  for  a  moment  with  the 
muse,  and  dashed  into  'The  girl  I  left  behind  me.' 
He  was  a  great,  rather  than  a  fine,  performer ;  he 
lacked  the  bird-like  richness ;  he  could  scarce  have 
extracted  all  the  honey  out  of  *  Cherry  Ripe  ;  '  he 
did  not  fear — he  even  ostentatiously  displayed  and 
seemed  to  revel  in  the  shrillness  of  the  instrument ; 
but  in  fire,  speed,  precision,  evenness,  and  fluency  ; 
in  linked  agility  of  jimmy — a  technical  expression, 
by  your  leave,  answering  to  warblers  on  the  bag- 
pipe ;  and  perhaps,  above  all,  in  that  inspiring  side- 
glance  of  the  eye,  with  which  he  followed  the  effect 
and  (as  by  a  human  appeal)  eked  out  the  insufficiency 
of  his  performance  :  in  these,  the  fellow  stood  with- 
out a  rival.  Harker  listened :  *  The  girl  I  left 
behind  me,'  filled  him  with  despair ;  '  The  Soldier's 
Joy '  carried  him  beyond  jealousy  into  generous 
enthusiasm. 

'  Turn  about,'  said  the  military  gentleman, 
offering  the  pipe. 


LAST  OF  THE  BROADWOOD   GRAND     ii^ 

'  Oh,  not  after  you ! '  cried  Harker,  '  you're  a 
professional.' 

^  No,'  said  his  companion ;  '  an  amatyure  like 
yourself.  That's  one  style  of  play,  yours  is  the 
other,  and  I  like  it  best.  But  I  began  when  I  was  a 
boy,  you  see,  before  my  taste  was  formed.  When 
you're  my  age  you'll  play  that  thing  like  a  cornet-a- 
piston.  Give  us  that  air  again ;  how  does  it  go  ? ' 
and  he  affected  to  endeavour  to  recall  '  The  Plough- 
boy.' 

A  timid,  insane  hope  sprang  in  the  breast  of 
Harker.  Was  it  possible  ?  Was  there  something 
in  his  playing  ?  It  had,  indeed,  seemed  to  him  at 
times  as  if  he  got  a  kind  of  a  richness  out  of  it. 
Was  he  a  genius  ?  Meantime  the  military  gentle- 
man stumbled  over  the  air. 

'  No,'  said  the  unhappy  Harker,  '  that's  not 
quite  it.     It  goes  this  way — ^just  to  show  you.' 

And,  taking  the  pipe  between  his  lips,  he  sealed 
his  doom.  When  he  had  played  the  air,  and  then  a 
second  time,  and  a  third ;  when  the  military  gentle- 
man had  tried  it  once  more,  and  once  more  failed ; 
when  it  became  clear  to  Harker  that  he,  the  blush- 
ing debutant,  was  actually  giving  a  lesson  to  this 
full-grown  flutist — and  the  flutist  under  his  care  was 
not  very  brilliantly  progressing — how  am  I  to  tell 


220  THE   WRONG  BOX 

what  floods  of  glory  brightened  the  autumnal 
countryside ;  how,  unless  the  reader  were  an 
amateur  himself,  describe  the  heights  of  idiotic 
vanity  to  which  the  carrier  climbed  ?  One  signifi- 
cant fact  shall  paint  the  situation:  thenceforth  it 
was  Harker  who  played,  and  the  military  gentleman 
listened  and  approved. 

As  he  listened,  however,  he  did  not  forget  the 
habit  of  soldierly  precaution,  looking  both  behind 
and  before.  He  looked  behind  and  computed  the 
value  of  the  carrier's  load,  divining  the  contents  of 
the  brown-paper  parcels  and  the  portly  hamper,  and 
briefly  setting  down  the  grand  piano  in  the  brand 
new  piano-case  as  *  difficult  to  get  rid  of.'  He 
looked  before,  and  spied  at  the  comer  of  the  green 
lane  a  little  country  public-house  embowered  in 
roses.  '  I'll  have  a  shy  at  it,'  concluded  the  mili- 
tary gentleman,  and  roundly  proposed  a  glass. 

*  Well,  I'm  not  a  drinking  man,'  said  Harker. 

^  Look  here,  now,'  cut  in  the  other,  '-  I'll  tell  you 
who  I  am :  I'm  Colour-Sergeant  Brand  of  the 
Blankth.  That'll  tell  you  if  I'm  a  drinking  man  or 
not.'  It  might  and  it  might  not,  thus  a  Greek 
chorus  would  have  intervened,  and  gone  on  to  point 
out  how  very  far  it  fell  short  of  telling  why  the 
sergeant  was  tramping  a  country  lane  in  tatters ;  or 
even  to  argue  that  he  must  have  pretermitted  some 


LAST  OF   THE  BROADWOOD   GRAND      221 

while  ago  his  labours  for  the  general  defence,  and 
(in  the  interval)  possibly  turned  his  attention  to 
oakum.  But  there  was  no  Greek  chorus  present ; 
and  the  man  of  war  went  on  to  contend  that  drink- 
ing was  one  thing  and  a  friendly  glass  another. 

In  the  Blue  Lion,  which  was  the  name  of  the 
country  public-house,  Colour-Sergeant  Brand  intro- 
duced his  new  friend,  Mr.  Harker,  to  a  number  of 
ingenious  mixtures,  calculated  to  prevent  the  ap- 
proaches of  intoxication.  These  he  explained  to  be 
'  rekisite '  in  the  service,  so  that  a  self-respecting 
officer  should  always  appear  upon  parade  in  a  con- 
dition honourable  to  his  corps.  The  most  efficacious 
of  these  devices  was  to  lace  a  pint  of  mild  ale  with 
twopence  worth  of 'London  gin.  I  am  pleased  to 
hand  in  this  recipe  to  the  discerning  reader,  who 
may  find  it  useful  even  in  civil  station  ;  for  its  effect 
upon  Mr.  Harker  was  revolutionary.  He  must  be 
helped  on  board  his  own  waggon,  where  he  proceeded 
to  display  a  spirit  entirely  given  over  to  mirth  and 
music,  alternately  hooting  with  laughter,  to  which 
the  sergeant  hastened  to  bear  chorus,  and  incoherently 
tootling  on  the  pipe.  The  man  of  war,  meantime, 
unostentatiously  possessed  himself  of  the  reins.  It 
was  plain  he  had  a  taste  for  the  secluded  beauties  of 
an  English  landscape;  for  the  cart,  although  it 
wandered   under   his  guidance  for  some  time,  was 


222  THE    WRONG  BOX 

never  observed  to  issue  on  the  dusty  highway, 
journeying  between  hedge  and  ditch,  and  for  the 
most  part  under  overhanging  boughs.  It  was  plain, 
besides,  he  had  an  eye  to  the  true  interests  of 
Mr.  Harker ;  for  though  the  cart  drew  up  more  than 
once  at  the  doors  of  public-houses,  it  was  only  the 
sergeant  who  set  foot  to  ground,  and  being  equipped 
himself  with  a  quart  bottle,  once  more  proceeded  on 
his  rural  drive. 

To  give  any  idea  of  the  complexity  of  the 
sergeant's  course,  a  map  of  that  part  of  Middlesex 
would  be  required,  and  my  publisher  is  averse  from 
the  expense.  Suffice  it,  that  a  little  after  the  night 
had  closed,  the  cart  was  brought  to  a  standstill  in  a 
woody  road ;  where  the  sergeant  lifted  from  among 
the  parcels,  and  tenderly  deposited  upon  the  wayside, 
the  inanimate  form  of  Harker. 

'  If  you  come  to  before  daylight,'  thought  the 
sergeant,  '  I  shall  be  surprised  for  one.' 

From  the  various  pockets  of  the  slumbering 
carrier,  he  gently  collected  the  sum  of  seventeen 
shillings  and  eightpence  sterling ;  and  getting  once 
more  into  the  cart,  drove  thoughtfully  away. 

'  If  I  was  exactly  sure  of  where  I  was,  it  would 
be  a  good  job,'  he  reflected.  'Anyway,  here's  a 
corner.' 

He  turned  it,  and  found  himself  upon  the  river- 


LAST  OF  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND     223 

side.  A  little  above  him  tlie  lights  of  a  houseboat 
shone  cheerfully ;  and  already  close  at  hand,  so  close 
that  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  their  notice,  three 
persons,  a  lady  and  two  gentlemen,  were  deliberately 
drawing  near.  The  sergeant  put  his  trust  in  the 
convenient  darkness  of  the  night,  and  drove  on  to 
meet  them.  One  of  the  gentlemen,  who  was  of  a 
portly  figure,  walked  in  the  midst  of  the  fairway  and 
presently  held  up  a  staff  by  way  of  signal. 

'  My  man,  have  you  seen  anything  of  a  carrier's 
cart  ?  '  he  cried. 

Dark  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  the  sergeant  as 
though  the  slimmer  of  the  two  gentlemen  had  made 
a  motion  to  prevent  the  other  speaking,  and  (finding 
himself  too  late)  had  skipped  aside  with  some  alacrity. 
At  another  season,  Sergeant  Brand  would  have  paid 
more  attention  to  the  fact ;  but  he  was  then  immersed 
in  the  perils  of  his  own  predicament. 

'-  A  carrier's  cart  ? '  said  he,  with  a  perceptible 
uncertainty  of  voice.     '  No,  sir.' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  the  portly  gentleman,  and  stood  aside 
to  let  the  sergeant  pass.  The  lady  appeared  to  bend 
forward  and  study  the  cart  with  every  mark  of 
sharpened  curiosity;  the  slimmer  gentleman  still 
keeping  in  the  rear. 

^I  wonder  what  the  devil  they  would  be  at,' 
thought  Sergeant  Brand ;  and  looking  fearfully  back 


224  THE   WRONG  BOX 

he  saw  the  trio  standing  together  in  the  midst  of 
the  way,  like  folk  consulting.  The  bravest  of  military 
heroes  are  not  always  equal  to  themselves  as  to  their 
reputation ;  and  fear,  on  some  singular  provocation, 
will  find  a  lodgment  in  the  most  unfamiliar  bosom. 
The  word  *  detective '  might  have  been  heard  to 
gurgle  in  the  sergeant's  throat;  and  vigorously 
applying  the  whip,  he  fled  up  the  riverside  road  to 
Great  Haverham,  at  the  gallop  of  the  carrier's  horse. 
The  lights  of  the  houseboat  flashed  upon  the  flying 
waggon  as  it  passed ;  the  beat  of  hoofs  and  the  rattle 
of  the  vehicle  gradually  coalesced  and  died  away ; 
and  presently,  to  the  trio  on  the  riverside,  silence 
had  redescended. 

*  It's  the  most  extraordinary  thing,'  cried  the 
slimmer  of  the  two  gentlemen,  '  but  that^s  the  cart ! ' 

*  And  I  know  I  saw  a  piano,'  said  the  girl. 

'  Oh,  it's  the  cart,  certainly ;  and  the  extraordinary 
thing  is,  it's  not  the  man,'  added  the  first. 

*  It  must  be  the  man,  Gid,  it  must  be,'  said  the 
portly  one. 

'  Well,  then,  why  is  he  running  away  ? '  asked 
Gideon. 

'  His  horse  bolted,  I  suppose,'  said  the  Squir- 
radical. 

^  Nonsense  !  I  heard  the  whip  going  like  a  flail,' 
said  Gideon.     ^  It  simply  defies  the  human  reason.' 


THE  BROADWOOD   GRAND  22S 

'  I'll  tell  3'ou,'  broke  in  the  girl,  '  he  came  round 
that  corner.  Suppose  we  went  and — what  do  they 
call  it  in  books  ? — followed  his  trail  ?  There  may  be 
a  house  there,  or  somebody  who  saw  him,  or  some- 
thing.' 

'-  Well,  suppose  we  did,  for  the  fun  of  \  he  thing,' 
Eaid  Gideon. 

The  fun  of  the  thing  (it  would  appear)  consisted 
in  the  extremely  close  juxtaposition  of  himself  and 
Miss  Hazeltine.  To  Uncle  Ned,  who  was  excluded 
from  these  simple  pleasures,  the  excursion  appeared 
hopeless  from  the  first ;  and  when  a  fresh  perspective 
of  darkness  opened  up,  dimly  contained  between 
park  palings  on  the  one  side  and  a  hedge  and  ditch 
upon  the  other,  the  whole  without  the  smallest  sigral 
of  human  habitation,  the  Squirradical  drew  up. 

'  This  is  a  wild-goose  chase,'  said  he. 

With  the  cessation  of  the  footfalls,  another  sound 
smote  upon  their  ears. 

'  Oh,  what's  that  ?  '  cried  Julia. 

'  I  can't  think,'  said  Gideon. 

The  Squirradical  had  his  stick  presented  like  a 
sword.     '  Gid,'  he  began,  '  Gid,  I ' 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth  ! '  cried  the  girl.  '  Oh  !  don't 
go  forward,  you  don't  know  what  it  might  be — it 
might  be  something  perfectly  horrid.' 

Q 


326  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  It  may  be  the  devil  itself/  said  Gideon,  disen- 
gaging himself,  ^  but  I  am  going  to  see  it.' 

'-  Don't  be  rash,  Gid,'  cried  his  uncle. 

The  barrister  drew  near  to  the  sound,  which  was 
certainly  of  a  portentous  character.  In  quality,  it 
appeared  to  blend  the  strains  of  the  cow,  the  fog- 
horn, and  the  mosquito ;  and  the  startling  manner 
of  its  enunciation  added  incalculably  to  its  terrors. 
A  dark  object,  not  unlike  the  human  form  divine, 
appeared  on  the  brink  of  the  ditch. 

'  It's  a  man,'  said  Gideon,  '  it's  only  a  man ;  he 
seems  to  be  asleep  and  snoring.  *  Hullo,'  he  added, 
a  moment  after,  'there  must  be  something  wrong 
with  him,  he  won't  waken.' 

Gideon  produced  his  vestas,  struck  one,  and  by 
its  light  recognised  the  tow-head  of  Harker. 

'-  This  is  the  man,'  said  he,  '  as  drunk  as  Belial. 
I  see  the  whole  story ; '  and  to  his  two  companions, 
who  had  now  ventured  to  rejoin  him,  he  set  forth  a 
theory  of  the  divorce  between  the  carrier  and  his 
cart,  which  was  not  unlike  the  truth. 

'  Drunken  brute ! '  said  Uncle  Ned,  '■  let's  get 
him  to  a  pump  and  give  him  what  he  deserves.' 

'  Not  at  all ! '  said  Gideon.  '  It  is  highly  unde- 
sirable he  should  see  us  together ;  and  really,  do  you 
know,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him,  for  this  is 
about   the  luckiest  thing  that  could  have  possibly 


THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND  227 

occurred.  It  seems  to  nie — Uncle  Ned,  I  declare  to 
heaven  it  seems  to  me  I'm  clear  of  it ! ' 

'  Clear  of  what  ?  '  asked  the  Squirradical. 

'  The  whole  affair ! '  cried  Gideon.  '  That  man 
has  been  ass  enough  to  steal  the  cart  and  the  dead 
body ;  what  he  hopes  to  do  with  it,  I  neither  know 
nor  care.  My  hands  are  free,  Jimson  ceases ;  down 
with  Jimson.  Shake  hands  with  me,  Uncle  Ned — 
Julia,  darling  girl,  Julia,  I ' 

'  Gideon,  Gideon  ! '  said  his  uncle. 

'  Oh,  it's  all  right,  uncle,  when  we're  going  to  be 
married  so  soon,'  said  Gideon.  '  You  know  you  said 
so  yourself  in  the  house-boat.' 

'  Did  I  ?  '  said  Uncle  Ned ;  '  I  am  certain  I  said 
no  such  thing.' 

'  Appeal  to  him,  tell  him  he  did,  get  on  his  soft 
side,'  cried  Gideon.  '•  He's  a  real  brick  if  you  get 
on  his  soft  side.' 

*  Dear  Mr.  Bloomfield,'  said  Julia,  '  I  know  Gideon 
will  be  such  a  very  good  boy,  and  he  has  promised 
me  to  do  such  a  lot  of  law,  and  I  will  see  that  he  does 
too.  And  you  know  it  is  so  very  steadying  to  young 
men,  everybody  admits  that ;  though,  of  course,  I 
know  I  have  no  money,  Mr.  Bloomfield,'  she  added. 

'My  dear  young  lady,  as  this  rapscallion  told 
you  to-day  on  the  boat.  Uncle  Ned  has  plenty,'  said 

Q  2 


228  THE    WRONG  BOX 

the  Squin-adical,  '  and  I  can  never  forget  that  you 
have  been  shamefully  defrauded.  So  as  there's  no- 
body looking,  you  had  better  give  your  Uncle  Ned 
a  kiss.  There,  you  rogue,*  resumed  Mr.  Bloomfield, 
when  the  ceremony  had  been  daintily  performed, 
*  this  very  pretty  young  lady  is  yours,  and  a  vast 
deal  more  than  you  deserve.  But  now,  let  us  get 
back  to  the  house-boat,  get  up  steam  on  the  launch, 
and  away  back  to  town.' 

*  That's  the  thing ! '  cried  Gideon ;  '  and  to- 
morrow there  will  be  no  house-boat,  and  no  Jim  son, 
and  no  carrier's  cart,  and  no  piano ;  and  when 
Barker  awakes  on  the  ditch  side,  he  may  tell  him- 
self the  whole  affair  has  been  a  dream.' 

*  Aha  ! '  said  Uncle  Ned,  *but  there's  another  man 
who  will  have  a  different  awakening.  That  fellow  in 
the  cart  will  find  he  has  been  too  clever  by  half.' 

*  Uncle  Ned  and  Julia,'  said  Gideon,  *  I  am  as 
happy  as  the  King  of  Tartary,  my  heart  is  like  a 
threepenny  bit,  my  heels  are  like  feathers ;  I  am  out 
of  all  my  troubles,  Julia's  hand  is  in  mine.  Is  this 
a  time  for  anything  but  handsome  sentiments  ? 
Why,  there's  not  room  in  me  for  anything  that's  not 
angelic !  And  when  I  think  of  that  poor  unhappy 
devil  in  the  cart,  I  stand  here  in  the  night  and  cry 
with  a  single  heart — God  help  him  ! ' 

*  Amen,'  said  Uncle  Ned. 


»29 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF   MORRIS:    PART   THE   SECOND. 

In  a  really  polite  age  of  literature,  I  would  have 
scorned  to  cast  my  eye  again  on  the  contortions  of 
Morris.  But  the  study  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  day  ; 
it  presents,  besides,  features  of  a  high,  almost  a 
repulsive  morality ;  and  if  it  should  prove  the  means 
of  preventing  any  respectable  and  inexperienced 
gentleman  from  plunging  light-heartedly  into  crime, 
even  political  crime,  this  work  will  not  have  been 
penned  in  vain. 

He  rose  on  the  morrow  of  his  night  with  Michael, 
rose  from  the  leaden  slumber  of  distress,  to  find  his 
hand  tremulous,  his  eyes  closed  with  rheum,  his 
throat  parched,  and  his  digestion  obviously  paralysed. 
'  Lord  knows  it's  not  from  eating ! '  Morris  thought ; 
and  as  he  dressed  he  reconsidered  his  position  under 
several  heads.  Nothing  will  so  well  depict  the 
troubled  seas  in  which  he  was  now  voyaging  as  a 


230  THE  WRONG  BOX 

review  of  these  various  anxieties.  I  have  thrown 
them  (for  the  reader's  convenience)  into  a  certain 
order ;  but  in  the  mind  of  one  poor  human  equal, 
they  whirled  together  like  the  dust  of  hurricanes. 
With  the  same  obliging  preoccupation,  I  have  put  a 
name  to  each  of  his  distresses ;  and  it  will  be 
observed  with  pity  that  every  individual  item  would 
have  graced  and  commended  the  cover  of  a  railway 
novel. 

Anxiety  the  First :  Where  is  the  Body  ?  or^  the 
Mi/stery  of  Bent  Pitman.  It  was  now  manifestly 
plain  that  Bent  Pitman  (as  was  to  be  looked  for 
from  his  ominous  appellation)  belonged  to  the  darker 
order  of  the  criminal  class.  An  honest  man  would 
not  have  cashed  the  bill ;  a  humane  man  would  not 
have  accepted  in  silence  the  tragic  contents  of  the 
water-butt ;  a  man,  who  was  not  already  up  to  the 
hilts  in  gore,  would  have  lacked  the  means  of  secretly 
disposing  them.  This  process  of  reasoning  left  a 
horrid  image  of  the  monster,  Pitman.  Doubtless  he 
had  long  ago  disposed  of  the  body — dropping  it 
through  a  trap-door  in  his  back  kitchen,  Morris 
supposed,  with  some  hazy  recollection  of  a  picture  in 
a  penny  dreadful ;  and  doubtless  the  man  now  lived 
in  wanton  splendour  on  the  proceeds  of  the  bill.  So 
far,  all  was  peace.     But  with  the  profligate  habits  of 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS        231 

a  man  like  Bent  Pitman  (who  was  no  doubt  a 
hunchback  in  the  bargain),  eight  hundred  pounds 
could  be  easily  melted  in  a  week.  When  they  were 
gone,  what  would  he  be  likely  to  do  next  ?  A  hell- 
like voice  in  Morris's  own  bosom  gave  the  answer  : 
'  Blackmail  me.' 

Anxiety  the  Second  :  The  Fraud  of  the  Tontine  ; 
or.  Is  my  Uncle  Dead  ?  This,  on  which  all  Morris's 
hopes  depended,  was  yet  a  question.  He  had  tried 
to  bully  Teena ;  he  had  tried  to  bribe  her ;  and 
nothing  came  of  it.  He  had  his  moral  conviction 
still ;  but  you  cannot  blackmail  a  sharp  lawyer  on  a 
moral  conviction.  And  besides,  since  his  interview 
with  Michael,  the  idea  wore  a  less  attractive  coun- 
tenance. Was  Michael  the  man  to  be  blackmailed  ? 
and  was  Morris  the  man  to  do  it  ?  Grave  considera- 
tions. ^  It's  not  that  I  am  afraid  of  him,'  Morris  so 
far  condescended  to  reassure  himself;  'but  I  must 
be  very  certain  of  my  ground,  and  the  deuce  of  it  is, 
I  see  no  way.  How  unlike  is  life  to  novels !  I 
wouldn't  have  even  begun  this  business  in  a  novel, 
but  what  I'd  have  met  a  dark,  slouching  fellow  in 
the  Oxford  Eoad,  who'd  have  become  my  accomplice, 
and  known  all  about  how  to  do  it,  and  probably 
broken  into  Michael's  house  at  night  and  found 
nothing  but   a   waxwork  image ;    and  then   black- 


232  THE   WRONG  BOX 

mailed  or  murdered  me.  But  here,  in  real  life,  I 
might  walk  the  streets  till  I  dropped  dead,  and  none 
of  the  criminal  classes  would  look  near  me.  Though, 
to  be  sure,  there  is  always  Pitman,'  he  added, 
thoughtfully. 

Anxiety  the  Third  :  The  Cottage  at  Browndean  ; 
or,  The  Underpaid  Accomplice .  For  he  had  an  accom- 
plice, and  that  accomplice  was  blooming  unseen  in 
a  damp  cottage  in  Hampshire  with  empty  pockets. 
What  could  be  done  about  that  ?  He  really  ought 
to  have  sent  him  something ;  if  it  was  only  a  post- 
office  order  for  five  bob,  enough  to  prove  that  he  was 
kept  in  mind,  enough  to  keep  him  in  hope,  beer,  and 
tobacco.  '  But  what  would  you  have  ?  '  thought 
Morris ;  and  ruefully  poured  into  his  hand  a  half- 
crown,  a  florin,  and  eightpence  in  small  change. 
For  a  man  in  Morris's  position,  at  war  with  all 
society,  and  conducting,  with  the  hand  of  inexpe- 
rience, a  widely  ramified  intrigue,  the  sum  was 
already  a  derision.  John  would  have  to  be  doing ; 
no  mistake  of  that.  *  But  then,'  asked  the  hell-like 
voice,  '  how  long  is  John  likely  to  stand  it  ? ' 

Anxiety  the  Fourth  :  The  Leather  Business ;  or, 
The  Shutter's  at  Last :  a  Tale  of  the  City.  On  this 
head,  Morris  had  no  news.  He  had  not  yet  dared 
to  visit  the  family  concern ;  yet  he  knew  he  must 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         233 

delay  no  longer,  and  if  anything  had  been  wanted  to 
sharpen  this  conviction,  Michael's  references  of  the 
night  before  rang  ambiguously  in  his  ear.  Well  and 
good.  To  visit  the  city  might  be  indispensable ; 
but  what  was  he  to  do  when  he  was  there  ?  He 
had  no  right  to  sign  in  his  own  name  ;  and  with  all 
the  will  in  the  world,  he  seemed  to  lack  the  art  of 
signing  with  his  uncle's.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, Morris  could  do  nothing  to  procrastinate 
the  crash  ;  and  when  it  came,  when  prying  eyes 
began  to  be  applied  to  every  joint  of  his  behaviour, 
two  questions  could  not  fail  to  be  addressed,  sooner 
or  later,  to  a  speechless  and  perspiring  insolvent. 
Where  is  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury  ?  and  how  about 
your  visit  to  the  bank  ?  Questions,  how  easy  to 
put ! — ye  gods,  how  impossible  to  answer !  The 
man  to  whom  they  should  be  addressed  went  cer- 
tainly to  jail,  and — eh  !  what  was  this  ? — possibly  to 
the  gallows.  Morris  was  trying  to  shave  when  this 
idea  struck  him,  and  he  laid  the  razor  down.  Here 
(in  Michael's  words)  was  the  total  disappearance  of 
a  valuable  uncle ;  here  was  a  time  of  inexplicable 
conduct  on  the  part  of  a  nephew  who  had  been  in 
bad  blood  with  the  old  man  any  time  these  seven 
years  ;  what  a  chance  for  a  judicial  blunder  !  '  But 
no,'  thought    Morris,    '  they  cannot,   they  dare    not 


234  THE  WRONG  BOX 

make  it  murder.  Not  that.  But  honestly,  and 
speaking  as  a  man  to  a  man,  I  don't  see  any  other 
crime  in  the  calendar  (except  arson)  that  I  don't 
seem  somehow  to  have  committed.  And  yet  I'm  a 
perfectly  respectable  man,  and  wished  nothing  but 
my  due.     Law  is  a  pretty  business.' 

With  this  conclusion  firmly  seated  in  his  mind, 
Morris  Finsbuiy  descended  to  the  hall  of  the  house 
in  John  Street,  still  half-shaven.  There  was  a  letter 
in  the  box;  he  knew  the  handwriting:  John  at 
last! 

'  Well,  I  think  I  might  have  been  spared  this,' 
he  said  bitterly,  and  tore  it  open. 

'  Dear  Morris,'  it  ran,  *  what  the  dickens  do  you 
mean  by  it?  I'm  in  an  awful  hole  down  here;  I 
have  to  go  on  tick,  and  the  parties  on  the  spot  don't 
cotton  to  the  idea;  they  couldn't,  because  it  is  so 
plain  I'm  in  a  stait  of  Destitution.  I've  got  no  bed- 
clothes, think  of  that,  I  must  have  coins,  the  hole 
thing's  a  Mockry,  I  wont  stand  it,  nobody  would.  I 
would  have  come  away  before,  only  I  have  no  money 
for  the  railway  fair.  Don't  be  a  lunatic,  Morris,  you 
don't  seem  to  understand  my  dredful  situation.  I 
have  to  get  the  stamp  on  tick.  A  fact.  Ever  your 
affte.  Brother,  J.  Finsbury.' 

*  Can't    even    spell ! '   Morris    reflected,    as    he 


THE   TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS         235 

crammed  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  left  the  house. 
*  What  can  I  do  for  him  ?  I  have  to  go  to  the  ex- 
pense of  a  barber,  I'm  so  shattered!  How  can  I 
send  anybody  coins?  It's  hard  lines,  I  dare  say; 
but  does  he  think  I'm  living  on  hot  muffins  ?  One 
comfort,'  was  his  grim  reflection,  '  he  can't  cut  and 
run — he's  got  to  stay  ;  he's  as  helpless  as  the  dead.' 
And  then  he  broke  forth  again  :  '  Complains,  does 
he  ?  and  he's  never  even  heard  of  Bent  Pitman  !  If 
he  had  what  I  have  on  my  mind,  he  might  complain 
with  a  good  grace.' 

But  these  were  not  honest  arguments,  or  not 
wholly  honest ;  there  was  a  struggle  in  the  mind  of 
Morris ;  he  could  not  disguise  from  himself  that  his 
brother  John  was  miserably  situated  at  Browndean, 
without  news,  without  money,  without  bed-clothes, 
without  society  or  any  entertainment ;  and  by  the 
time  he  had  been  shaved  and  picked  a  hasty  break- 
fast at  a  coffee  tavern,  Morris  had  arrived  at  a  com- 
promise. 

'  Poor  Johnnie,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  he's  in  an 
awful  box  !  I  can't  send  him  coins,  but  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do;  I'll  send  him  the  "Pink  Un  "—it'll 
cheer  John  up ;  and  besides  it'll  do  his  credit  good 
getting  anything  by  post.' 

Accordingly,  on  his  way  to  the  leather  business, 


236  THE    WRONG  BOX 

whither  he  proceeded  (according  to  his  thrifty  habit) 
on  foot,  Morris  purchased  and  despatched  a  single 
copy  of  that  enlivening  periodical,  to  which  (in  a 
sudden  pang  of  remorse)  he  added  at  random  the 
^  Athenaeum,'  the  *  Revivalist,'  and  the  '  Penny  Pic- 
torial Weekly.'  So  there  was  John  set  up  with 
literature,  and  Morris  had  laid  balm  upon  his  con- 
science. 

As  if  to  reward  him,  he  was  received  in  his  place 
of  business  with  good  news.  Orders  were  pouring 
in  ;  there  was  a  run  on  some  of  the  back  stock,  and 
the  figure  had  gone  up.  Even  the  manager  appeared 
elated.  As  for  Morris,  who  had  almost  forgotten  the 
meaning  of  good  news,  he  longed  to  sob  like  a  little 
child ;  he  could  have  caught  the  manager  (a  pallid 
man  with  startled  eyebrows)  to  his  bosom  ;  he  could 
have  found  it  in  his  generosity  to  give  a  cheque  (for 
a  small  sum)  to  every  clerk  in  the  counting-house.* 
As  he  sat  and  opened  his  letters  a  chorus  of  airy 
vocalists  sang  in  his  brain,  to  most  exquisite  music, 
'This  old  concern  may  be  profitable  yet,  profitable 
yet,  profitable  yet.' 

To  him,  in  this  sunny  moment  of  relief,  enter  a 
Mr.  Rodgerson,  a  creditor,  but  not  one  who  was 
expected  to  be  pressing,  for  his  connection  with  the 
firm  was  old  and  regular. 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         237 

'  Oh,  Finsbury,'  said  he,  not  without  embarrass- 
ment, ^  it's  of  course  only  fair  to  let  you  know — the 
fact  is,  money  is  a  trifle  tight — I  have  some  paper 
out — for  that  matter,  every  one's  complaining — and 
in  short ' 

'  It  has  never  been  our  habit,  Rodgerson,'  said 
Morris,  turning  pale.  'But  give  me  time  to  turn 
round,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do ;  I  dare  say  we  can 
let  you  have  something  to  account.' 

'  Well,  that's  just  where  it  is,'  replied  Rodgerson. 
'  I  was  tempted ;  I've  let  the  credit  out  of  my 
hands.' 

'  Out  of  your  hands  ?  '  repeated  Morris.  '  That's 
playing  rather  fast  and  loose  with  us,  Mr.  Rodger- 
son.' 

'  Well,  I  got  cent,  for  cent,  for  it,'  said  the  other, 
'  on  the  nail,  in  a  certified  cheque.' 

'  Cent,  for  cent. ! '  cried  Morris.  '  Why,  that's 
something  like  thirty  per  cent,  bonus  ;  a  singular 
thing !     Who's  the  party  ?  ' 

'  Don't  know  the  man,'  was  the  reply.  '  Name 
of  Moss.' 

'  A  Jew,'  Morris  reflected,  when  his  visitor  was 
gone.  And  what  could  a  Jew  want  with  a  claim  of 
— he  verified  the  amount  in  the  books — a  claim  of 
three  five  eight,  nineteen,  ten,  against  the  house  of 


238  THE  WRONG  BOX 

Finsbury  ?  And  why  should  he  pay  cent,  for  cent.  ? 
The  figure  proved  the  loyalty  of  Rodgerson — even 
Morris  admitted  that.  But  it  proved  unfortunately 
something  else — the  eagerness  of  Moss.  The  claim 
must  have  been  wanted  instantly,  for  that  day,  for 
that  morning  even.  Why  ?  The  mystery  of  Moss 
promised  to  be  a  fit  pendant  to  the  mystery  of  Pit- 
man. '  And  just  when  all  was  looking  well,  too !  * 
cried  Morris,  smiting  his  hand  upon  the  desk.  And 
almost  at  the  same  moment  Mr.  Moss  was  an- 
nounced. 

Mr.  Moss  was  a  radiant  Hebrew,  brutally  hand- 
some and  offensively  polite.  He  was  acting,  it  ap- 
peared, for  a  third  party  ;  he  understood  nothing  of 
the  circumstances;  his  client  desired  to  have  his 
position  regularised ;  but  he  would  accept  an  ante- 
dated cheque — antedated  by  two  months,  if  Mr. 
Finsbury  chose. 

*  But  I  don't  understand  this,'  said  Morris.  '  What 
made  you  pay  cent,  per  cent,  for  it  to-day  ?  ' 

Mr.  Moss  had  no  idea  ;  only  his  orders. 

'  The  whole  thing  is  thoroughly  irregular,'  said 
Morris.  '  It  is  not  the  custom  of  the  trade  to  settle 
at  this  time  of  the  year.  What  are  your  instructions 
if  I  refuse  ?  ' 

'  I  am  to  see  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury,  the  head  of 


THE    TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         239 

the  firm,'  said  Mr.  Moss.  '  I  was  directed  to  insist 
on  that ;  it  was  implied  you  had  no  status  here — the 
expressions  are  not  mine.' 

'  You  cannot  see  Mr.  Joseph ;  he  is  unwell,'  said 
Morris. 

^  In  that  case  I  was  to  place  the  matter  in  the 
hands  of  a  lawyer.  Let  me  see,'  said  Mr.  Moss, 
opening  a  pocket-book  with,  perhaps,  suspicious  care, 
at  the  right  place — '  Yes — of  Mr.  Michael  Finsbury. 
A  relation,  perhaps  ?  In  that  case,  I  presume,  the 
matter  will  be  pleasantly  arranged.' 

To  pass  into  the  hands  of  Michael  was  too  much 
for  Morris.  He  struck  his  colours.  A  cheque  at 
two  months  was  nothing,  after  all.  In  two  months 
he  would  probably  be  dead,  or  in  a  jail  at  any  rate. 
He  bade  the  manager  give  Mr.  Moss  a  chair  and  the 
paper.  ^  I'm  going  over  to  get  a  cheque  signed  by 
Mr.  Finsbury,'  said  he,  '  who  is  lying  ill  at  John 
Street.' 

A  cab  there  and  a  cab  back ;  here  were  inroads 
on  his  wretched  capital !  He  counted  the  cost ; 
when  he  was  done  with  Mr.  Moss  he  would  be  left 
with  twelvepence-halfpenny  in  the  world.  What 
was  even  worse,  he  had  now  been  forced  to  bring  his 
uncle  up  to  Bloomsbury.  '  No  use  for  poor  Johnnie 
in  Hampshire   now,'  he  reflected.     '  And  how  the 


240  THE    WRONG  BOX 

farce  is  to  be  kept  up  completely  passes  me.  At 
Browndean  it  was  just  possible  ;  in  Bloomsbury  it 
seems  beyond  human  ingenuity — though  I  suppose 
it*s  what  Michael  does.  But  then  he  has  accomplices 
— that  Scotchman  and  the  whole  gang.  Ah,  if  I  had 
accomplices ! ' 

Necessity  is  the  mother  of  the  arts.  Under  a 
spur  so  immediate,  Morris  surprised  himself  by 
the  neatness  and  dispatch  of  his  new  forgery,  and 
within  three-fourths  of  an  hour  had  handed  it  to 
Mr.  Moss. 

'  That  is  very  satisfactory,'  observed  that  gentle- 
man, rising.  '  I  was  to  tell  you  it  will  not  be  pre- 
sented, but  you  had  better  take  care.' 

The  room  swam  round  Morris.  *  What — what's 
that ! '  he  cried,  grasping  the  table.  He  was  miser- 
ably conscious  the  next  moment  of  his  shrill  tongue 
and  ashen  face.  '  What  do  you  mean — it  will  not  be 
presented  ?  Why  am  I  to  take  care  ?  Wliat  is  all 
this  mummery  ? ' 

*  I  have  no  idea,  Mr.  Finsbury,'  replied  the  smil- 
ing Hebrew.  '  It  was  a  message  I  was  to  deliver. 
The  expressions  were  put  into  my  mouth.' 

*  What  is  your  client's  name  ?  '  asked  Morris. 

'  That  is  a  secret  for  the  moment,'  answered  Mr. 
Moss. 


THE   TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS         241 

Morris  bent  toward  him.  '  It's  not  the  bank  ?  ' 
he  asked,  hoarsely. 

'  I  have  no  authority  to  say  more,  Mr.  Finsbury,' 
returned  Mr.  Moss.  '  I  will  wish  you  a  good- 
morning,  if  you  please.' 

^  Wish  me  a  good-morning  ! '  thought  Morris  ; 
and  the  next  moment,  seizing  his  hat,  he  fled  from 
his  place  of  business  like  a  madman.  Three  streets 
away  he  stopped  and  groaned.  '  Lord !  I  should 
have  borrowed  from  the  manager  ! '  he  cried.  '  But 
it's  too  late  now ;  it  would  look  dicky  to  go  back ; 
I'm  penniless — simply  penniless — like  the  unem- 
ployed.' 

He  went  home  and  sat  in  the  dismantled  dining- 
room  with  his  head  in  his  hands.  Newton  never 
thought  harder  than  this  victim  of  circumstance,  and 
yet  no  clearness  came.  '  It  may  be  a  defect  in  my 
intelligence,'  he  cried,  rising  to  his  feet,  '  but  I  can- 
not see  that  I  am  fairly  used.  The  bad  luck  I've 
had  is  a  thing  to  write  to  "  The  Times  "  about ;  it's 
enough  to  breed  a  revolution.  And  the  plain  Eng- 
lish of  the  whole  thing  is  that  I  must  have  money  at 
once.  I'm  done  with  all  morality  now;  I'm  long 
past  that  stage ;  money  I  must  have,  and  the  only 
chance  I  see  is  Bent  Pitman.  Bent  Pitman  is  a 
criminal,  and  therefore  his  position's  weak.     He  must 


24i  THE    WRONG  BOX 

have  some  of  that  eight  hundred  left ;  if  he  has  I'll 
force  him  to  go  shares ;  and  even  if  he  hasn't,  I'll 
tell  him  the  tontine  affair,  and  with  a  desperate  man 
like  Pitman  at  my  back,  it'll  be  strange  if  I  don't 
succeed.' 

Well  and  good.  But  how  to  lay  hands  upon 
Bent  Pitman,  except  by  advertisement,  was  not  so 
clear.  And  even  so,  in  what  terms  to  ask  a  meeting  ? 
on  what  grounds  ?  and  where  ?  Not  at  John  Street, 
for  it  would  never  do  to  let  a  man  like  Bent  Pitman 
know  your  real  address ;  nor  yet  at  Pitman's  house, 
some  dreadful  place  in  Holloway,  with  a  trap-door  in 
the  back  kitchen ;  a  house  which  you  might  enter  in 
a  light  summer  overcoat  and  varnished  boots,  to  come 
forth  again  piecemeal  in  a  market-basket.  That 
was  the  drawback  of  a  really  efficient  accomplice. 
Moms  felt,  not  without  a  shudder.  *  I  never  dreamed 
I  should  come  to  actually  covet  such  society,'  he 
thought.  And  then  a  brilliant  idea  struck  him. 
Waterloo  Station,  a  public  place,  yet  at  certain 
hours  of  the  day  a  solitary ;  a  place,  besides,  the 
very  name  of  which  must  knock  upon  the  heart 
of  Pitman,  and  at  once  suggest  a  knowledge  of  the 
latest  of  his  guilty  secrets.  Morris  took  a  piece  of 
paper  and  sketched  his  advertisement. 

'  William  Bent  Pitmax,  if  this  should  meet  the 


THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS         243 

eye  of,  he  will  hear  of  something  to  his  advantage 
on  the  far  end  of  the  main  line  departure  platform, 
Waterloo  Station,  2  to  4  p.m.,  Sunday  next.' 

Morris  reperused  this  literary  trifle  with  approba- 
tion. '  Terse,'  he  reflected.  '  Something  to  his 
advantage  is  not  strictly  true ;  but  it's  taking  and 
original,  and  a  man  is  not  on  oath  in  an  advertise- 
ment. All  that  I  require  now  is  the  ready  cash  for  my 
own  meals  and  for  the  advertisement,  and — no,  I 
can't  lavish  money  upon  John,  but  I'll  give  him 
some  more  papers.     How  to  raise  the  wind  ? ' 

He  approached  his  cabinet  of  signets,  and  the 
collector  suddenly  revolted  in  his  blood.  'I  will 
not ! '  he  cried  ;  '  nothing  shall  induce  me  to  massacre 
my  collection — rather  theft ! '  And  dashing  upstairs 
to  the  drawing-room,  he  helped  himself  to  a  few  of 
his  uncle's  curiosities :  a  pair  of  Turkish  babooshes, 
a  Smyrna  fan,  a  water-cooler,  a  musket  guaranteed 
to  have  been  seized  from  an '  Ephesian  bandit,  and  a 
pocketful  of  curious  but  incomplete  seashells. 


E  2 


244  THE   WRONG  BOX 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WILLIAM   BENT  PITMAN   HEARS   OF    SOMETHING   TO   HIS 
ADVANTAGE 

On  the  morning  of  Sunday,  William  Dent  Pitman 
rose  at  his  usual  hour,  although  with  something  more 
than  the  usual  reluctance.     The  day  before  (it  should 
be  explained)   an  addition  had  been   made   to   his 
family  in  the  person  of  a  lodger.     Michael  Finsbury 
had  acted  sponsor  in  the  business,  and  guaranteed 
the  weekly  bill ;  on  the  other  hand,  no  doubt  with  a 
spice  of  his  prevailing  jocularity,  he  had  drawn  a 
depressing  portrait  of  the  lodger's  character.     Mr. 
Pitman  had  been  led  to  understand  his  guest  was 
not  good  company ;  he  had  approached  the  gentle- 
man with  fear,  and  had  rejoiced  to  find  himself  the 
entertainer  of  an  angel.     At  tea  he  had  been  vastly 
pleased ;  till  hard  on  one  in  the  morning  he  had  sat 
entranced  by  eloquence   and  progressively  fortified 
with    information   in   the    studio ;  and   now,    as  he 


SOMETHING    TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        245 

reviewed  over  his  toilet  the  harmless  pleasures  of 
the  evening,  the  future  smiled  upon  him  with  re- 
vived attractions.  '  Mr.  Finsbury  is,  indeed,  an 
acquisition,'  he  remarked  to  himself;  and  as  he 
entered  the  little  parlour,  where  the  table  was 
already  laid  for  breakfast,  the  cordiality  of  his  greet- 
ing would  have  befitted  an  acquaintanceship  already 
old. 

'  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  sir  ' — these  were  his 
expressions — '  and  I  trust  you  have  slept  well.' 

'-  Accustomed  as  I  have  been  for  so  long  to  a  life 
of  almost  perpetual  change,'  replied  the  guest,  Hhe 
disturbance  so  often  complained  of  by  the  more 
sedentary,  as  attending  their  first  nighfc  in  (what  is 
called)  a  new  bed,  is  a  complaint  from  which  I  am* 
entirely  free.' 

'  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,'  said  the  drawing- 
master  warmly.  '  But  I  see  I  have  interrupted  you 
over  the  paper.' 

'  The  Sunday  paper  is  one  of  the  features  of  the 
age,'  said  Mr.  Finsbury.  '  In  America,  I  am  told,  it 
supersedes  all  other  literature,  the  bone  and  sinew  of 
the  nation  finding  their  requirements  catered  for  ; 
hundreds  of  columns  will  be  occupied  with  interest- 
ing details  of  the  world's  doings,  such  as  water- 
spouts, elopements,  conflagrations,  and  public  enter' 


246  THE    WRONG  BOX 

tainments ;  there  is  a  corner  for  politics,  ladies'  work, 
chess,  religion,  and  even  literature ;  and  a  few  spicy 
editorials  serve  to  direct  the  course  of  public  thought. 
It  is  difficult  to  estimate  the  part  played  by  such 
enormous  and  miscellaneous  repositories  in  the  edu- 
cation of  the  people.  But  this  (though  interesting  in 
itself)  partakes  of  the  nature  of  a  digression ;  and 
what  I  was  about  to  ask  you  was  this:  Are  you 
yourself  a  student  of  the  daily  press  ? ' 

'  There  is  not  much  in  the  papers  to  interest  an 
artist,'  returned  Pitman. 

'  In  that  case,'  resumed  Joseph,  '  an  advertise- 
ment which  has  appeared  the  last  two  days  in  various 
journals,  and  reappears  this  morning,  may  possibly 
"have  failed  to  catch  your  eye.  The  name,  with  a 
trifling  variation,  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  your 
own.  Ah,  here  it  is.  If  you  please,  I  will  read  it 
to  you. 

'  "  William  Bent  Pitman,  if  this  should  meet 
the  eye  of,  he  will  hear  of  something  to  his  advan- 
tage at  the  far  end  of  the  main  line  departure  plat- 
form, Waterloo  Station,  2  to  4  P.M.  to-day." ' 

'  Is  that  in  print  ?  '  cried  Pitman.-  *  Let  me  see 
it!  Bent?  It  must  be  Dent!  Something  to  my 
advantage?  Mr.  Finsbury,  excuse  me  offering  a 
word  of  caution;  I  am  aware   how   strangely   this 


SOMETHING   TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        247 

must  sound  in  your  ears,  but  there  are  domestic 
reasons  why  this  little  circumstance  might  perhaps 
be  better  kept  between  ourselves.  Mrs.  Pitman — 
my  dear  sir,  I  assure  you  there  is  nothing  dishonour- 
able in  my  secrecy ;  the  reasons  are  domestic,  merely 
domestic ;  and  I  may  set  your  conscience  at  rest 
when  I  assure  you  all  the  circumstances  are  known 
to  our  common  friend,  your  excellent  nephew, 
Mr.  Michael,  who  has  not  withdrawn  from  me  his 
esteem.' 

'•  A  word  is  enough,  Mr.  Pitman,'  said  Joseph, 
with  one  of  his  oriental  reverences. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  drawing-master  found 
Michael  in  bed  and  reading  a  book,  the  picture  of 
good-humour  and  repose. 

'  Hillo,  Pitman,'  he  said,  laying  down  his  book, 
'  what  brings  you  here  at  this  inclement  hour  ? 
Ought  to  be  in  church,  my  boy  !  ' 

'  I  have  little  thought  of  church  to-day,  Mr. 
Finsbury,'  said  the  drawing-master.  '  I  am  on  the 
brink  of  something  new,  sir.'  And  he  presented  the 
advertisement. 

'  Why,  what  is  this  ? '  cried  Michael,  sitting  sud- 
denly up.  He  studied  it  for  half  a  minute  with  a 
frown.  '  Pitman,  I  don't  care  about  this  document 
a  particle,'  said  he. 


248  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*It  will  have  to  be  attended  to,  however,'  said 
Pitman. 

'  I  thought  you'd  had  enough  of  Waterloo,'  re- 
turned the  lawyer.  *  Have  you  started  a  morbid 
craving  ?  You've  never  been  yourself  anyway  since 
you  lost  that  beard.  I  believe  now  it  was  where 
you  kept  your  senses.' 

*  Mr.  Finsbury,'  said  the  drawing-master,  '  I  have 
tried  to  reason  this  matter  out,  and,  with  your  per- 
mission, I  should  like  to  lay  before  you  the  results.' 

*  Fire  away,'  said  Michael ;  '  but  please.  Pitman, 
remember  it's  Sunday,  and  let's  have  no  bad  lan- 
guage.' 

'  There  are  three  views  open  to  us,'  began  Pitman. 
'  First,  this  may  be  connected  with  the  barrel ;  second, 
it  may  be  connected  with  Mr.  Semitopolis'  statue ; 
and  third,  it  may  be  from  my  wife's  brother,  who 
went  to  Australia.  In  the  first  case,  which  is  of 
course  possible,  I  confess  the  matter  would  be  best 
allowed  to  drop.' 

*  The  court  is  with  you  there.  Brother  Pitman,' 
said  Michael. 

'•  In  the  second,'  continued  the  other,  '  it  is  plainly 
my  duty  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  for  the  recovery 
of  the  lost  antique.' 

'  My  dear  fellow,  Semitopolis  ha»  come  down  like 


SOMETHING   TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        249 

a  trump ;  lie  has  pocketed  the  loss  and  left  you  the 
profit.  What  more  would  you  have  ? '  inquired  the 
lawyer. 

*  I  conceive,  sir,  under  correction,  that  Mr.  Semi- 
topolis'  generosity  binds  me  to  even  greater  exertion,' 
said  the  drawing-master.  ^  The  whole  business  was 
unfortunate ;  it  was — I  need  not  disguise  it  from 
you — it  was  illegal  from  the  first :  the  more  reason 
that  I  should  try  to  behave  like  a  gentleman,'  con- 
cluded Pitman,  flushing. 

'  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  that,'  returned  the 
lawyer.  *  I  have  sometimes  thought  I  should  like  to 
try  to  behave  like  a  gentleman  myself;  only  it's  such 
a  one-sided  business,  with  the  world  and  the  legal 
profession  as  they  are.' 

^  Then,  in  the  third,'  resumed  the  drawing-master, 
'  if  it's  Uncle  Tim,  of  course,  our  fortune's  made.' 

'  It's  not  Uncle  Tim,  though,'  said  the  lawyer. 

'Have  you  observed  that  very  remarkable  ex- 
pression :  Something  to  his  advantage  ? '  inquired 
Pitman,  shrewdly. 

'  You  innocent  mutton,'  said  Michael,  '  it's  the 
seediest  commonplace  in  the  English  language,  and 
only  proves  the  advertiser  is  an  ass.  Let  me  de- 
molish your  house  of  cards  for  you  at  once.  Would 
Uncle  Tim  make  that  blunder  in  your  name  ? — in 


250  THE    WRONG  BOX 

itself,  the  blunder  is  delicious,  a  huge  improvement 
on  the  gross  reality,  and  I  mean  to  adopt  it  in  the 
future  ;  but  is  it  like  Uncle  Tim  ? ' 

'  No,  it's  not  like  him,'  Pitman  admitted.  '-  But 
his  mind  may  have  become  unhinged  at  Ballarat.' 

'  If  you  come  to  that.  Pitman,'  said  Michael,  '  the 
advertiser  mmj  be  Queen  Victoria,  fired  with  the 
desire  to  make  a  duke  of  you.  I  put  it  to  yourself 
if  that's  probable  ;  and  yet  it's  not  against  the  laws 
of  nature.  But  we  sit  here  to  consider  probabilities ; 
and  with  your  genteel  permission,  I  eliminate  her 
Majesty  and  Uncle  Tim  on  the  threshold.  To  pro- 
ceed, we  have  your  second  idea,  that  this  has  some 
connection  with  the  statue.  Possible;  but  in  that 
case  who  is  the  advertiser?  Not  Ricardi,  for  he 
knows  your  address  ;  not  the  person  who  got  the 
box,  for  he  doesn't  know  your  name.  The  van-man, 
I  hear  you  suggest,  in  a  lucid  interval.  He  might 
have  got  your  name,  and  got  it  incorrectly,  at  the 
station ;  and  he  might  have  failed  to  get  your  address. 
I  grant  the  van-man.  But  a  question  :  Do  you 
really  wish  to  meet  the  van-man  ?  ' 

'  Why  should  I  not  ?  '  asked  Pitman. 

'-  If  he  wants  to  meet  you,'  replied  Michael, 
'  observe  this  :  It  is  because  he  has  found  his  address 
book,  has  been  to  the  house  that  got  the  statue,  and 


SOMETHING    TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        251 

— mark  my  words  !  — is  moving  at  the  instigation  of 
the  murderer.' 

'  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  so,'  said  Pit- 
man ;  '  but  I  still  consider  it  my  duty  to  Mr.  Semi- 
topolis  .  .   .' 

^  Pitman,'  interrupted  Michael,  '  this  will  not  do. 
Don't  seek  to  impose  on  your  legal  adviser  ;  don't 
try  to  pass  yourself  off  for  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
for  that  is  not  your  line.  Come,  I  wager  a  dinner 
I  can  read  your  thoughts.  You  still  believe  it's 
Uncle  Tim.' 

'  Mr.  Finsbury,'  said  the  drawing-master,  colour- 
ing, ^you  are  not  a  man  in  narrow  circumstances, 
and  you  have  no  family.  Guendolen  is  growing  up, 
a  very  promising  girl — she  was  confirmed  this  year ; 
and  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  enter  into  my  feelings 
as  a  parent,  when  I  tell  you  she  is  quite  ignorant  of 
dancing.  The  boys  are  at  the  board-school,  which 
is  all  very  well  in  its  way ;  at  least,  I  am  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  criticise  the  institutions  of  my 
native  land.  But  I  had  fondly  hoped  that  Harold 
might  become  a  professional  musician ;  and  little 
Otho  shows  a  quite  remarkable  vocation  for  the 
Church.     I  am  not  exactly  an  ambitious  man  .  .  .' 

'  Well,  well,'  interrupted  Michael.  '  Be  explicit ; 
you  think  it's  Uncle  Tim.' 


252  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  It  might  be  Uncle  Tim,'  insisted  Pitman,  '  and 
if  it  were,  and  I  neglected  the  occasion,  how  could 
I  ever  look  my  children  in  the  face  ?  I  do  not  refer 
to  Mrs.  Pitman  .  .  .* 

'  No,  you  never  do,'  said  Michael. 

*.  .  .  but  in  the  case  of  her  own  brother  returning 
from  Ballarat  .  .  .'  continued  Pitman. 

S  .  .  with  his  mind  unhinged,'  put  in  the  law- 
yer. 

^  .  .  returning  from  Ballarat  with  a  large  fortune, 
her  impatience  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
described,'  concluded  Pitman. 

*  All  right,'  said  Michael,  '  be  it  so.  And  what 
do  you  propose  to  do  ? ' 

*  I  am  going  to  Waterloo,'  said  Pitman,  '  in 
disguise.' 

'AH  by  your  little  self?'  inquired  the  lawyer. 
*  Well,  I  hope  you  think  it  safe.  Mind  and  send  me 
word  from  the  police  cells.' 

•Oh,  Mr.  Finsbury,  I  had  ventured  to  hope — 
perhaps  you  might  be  induced  to — to  make  one  of 
us,'  faltered  Pitman. 

*  Disguise  myself  on  Sunday  ? '  cried  Michael. 
'  How  little  you  understand  my  principles ! ' 

'  Mr.  Finsbury,  I  have  no  means  of  showing  you 
my  gratitude  3    but  let  me  ask  you  one  question,' 


SOMETHING   TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        253 

said  Pitman.  '  If  I  were  a  very  rich  client,  would 
you  not  take  the  risk  ?  ' 

'Diamond,  Diamond,  you  know  not  what  you 
do ! '  cried  Michael.  '  Why,  man,  do  you  suppose 
I  make  a  practice  of  cutting  about  London  with  my 
clients  in  disguise  ?  Do  you  suppose  money  would 
induce  me  to  touch  this  business  with  a  stick  ?  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honour,  it  would  not.  But  I 
own  I  have  a  real  curiosity  to  see  how  you  conduct 
this  interview — that  tempts  me ;  it  tempts  me. 
Pitman,  more  than  gold — it  should  be  exquisitely 
rich.'  And  suddenly  Michael  laughed.  '  Well, 
Pitman,'  said  he,  '  have  all  the  truck  ready  in  the 
studio,     ril  go.' 

About  twenty  minutes  after  two,  on  this  eventful 
day,  the  vast  and  gloomy  shed  of  Waterloo  lay,  like 
the  temple  of  a  dead  religion,  silent  and  deserted. 
Here  and  there,  at  one  of  the  platforms,  a  train  lay 
becalmed ;  here  and  there  a  wandering  footfall 
echoed ;  the  cab-horses  outside  stamped  with  start- 
ling reverberations  on  the  stones :  or  from  the 
neighbouring  wilderness  of  railway  an  engine  snorted 
forth  a  whistle.  The  main-line  departure  platform 
slumbered  like  the  rest ;  the  booking-hutches  closed ; 
the  backs  of  Mr.  Haggard's  novels,  with  which  upon 
a  week-day  the  bookstall   shines    emblazoned,  dis- 


254  THE    WRONG  BOX 

creetly  hidden  behind  dingy  shutters;  the  miv 
officials,  undisguisedly  somnambulant ;  and  the 
customary  loiterers,  even  to  the  middle-aged  woman 
with  the  ulster  and  the  handbag,  fled  to  more  con- 
genial scenes.  As  in  the  inmost  dells  of  some  small 
tropic  island  the  throbbing  of  the  ocean  lingers,  so 
here  a  faint  pervading  hum  and  trepidation  told  in 
every  corner  of  surrounding  London. 

At  the  hour  already  named,  persons  acquaint  id 
with  John  Dickson,  of  Ballarat,  and  Ezra  Thomas, 
of  the  United  States  of  America,  would  have  been 
cheered  to  behold  them  enter  through  the  booking- 
office. 

*  What  names  arc  wo  to  take  ? '  inquired  the 
latter,  anxiously  adjusting  the  window-glass  spec- 
tacles which  he  had  been  suffered  on  this  occasion 
to  assume. 

^  There's  no  choice  for  you,  my  boy,'  returned 
Michael.  '  Bent  Pitman  or  nothing.  As  for  me,  I 
think  I  look  as  if  I  might  be  called  Appleby ;  some- 
thing agreeably  old-world  about  Appleby — breathes 
of  Devonshire  cider.  Talking  of  which,  suppose  you 
wet  your  whistle?  the  interview  is  likely  to  be 
trying.' 

'I  think  I'll  wait  till  afterward,'  returned  Pitman ; 
'  on  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  wait  till  the  thinor's  over. 


SOMETHING   TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        255 

I  don't  know  if  it  strikes  you  as  it  does  me  ;  but  the 
place  seems  deserted  and  silent,  Mr.  Finsbury,  and 
filled  with  very  singular  eclioes.' 

'  Kind  of  Jack-in-the-box  feeling  ? '  inquired 
Michael,  '  as  if  all  these  empty  trains  might  be  filled 
with  policemen  waiting  for  a  signal  ?  and  Sir  Charles 
Warren  perched  among  the  girders  with  a  silver 
whistle  to  his  lips  ?     It's  guilt,  Pitman.' 

In  this  uneasy  frame  of  mind  they  walked  nearly 
the  whole  length  of  the  departure  platform,  and  at 
the  western  extremity  became  aware  of  a  slender 
figure  standing  backed  against  a  pillar.  The  figure 
was  plainly  sunk  into  a  deep  abstraction;  he  was 
not  aware  of  their  approach,  but  gazed  far  abroad 
over  the  sunlit  station.     Michael  stopped. 

'•  Holloa ! '  said  he,  '  can  that  be  your  advertiser  ? 
If  so,  I'm  done  with  it.'  And  then,  on  second 
thoughts  :  '  Not  so,  either,'  he  resumed  more  cheer- 
fully. '  Here,  turn  your  back  a  moment.  So.  Give 
me  the  specs/ 

'But  you  agreed  I  was  to  have  them,'  protested 
Pitman. 

^  Ah,  but  that  man  knows  me,'  said  Michael. 

'  Does  he  ?  what's  his  name  ? '  cried  Pitman. 

*  Oh,  he  took  me  into  his  confidence,'  returned 
the  lawyer.    *  But  I  may  say  one  thing  :  if  he's  your 


256  THE    WRONG  BOX 

advertiser  (and  he  may  be,  for  lie  seems  to  have  been 
seized  with  criminal  lunacy)  you  can  go  ahead  with 
a  clear  conscience,  for  I  hold  him  in  the  hollow  of 
my  hand.' 

The  change  effected,  and  Pitman  comforted  with 
this  good  news,  the  pair  drew  near  to  Morris. 

'Are  you  looking  for  Mr.  William  Bent  Pitman  ? ' 
inquired  the  drawing-master.     *  I  am  he.' 

Morris  raised  his  head.  He  saw  before  him,  in 
the  speaker,  a  person  of  almost  indescribable  insig- 
nificance, in  white  spats  and  a  shirt  cut  indecently 
low.  A  little  behind  a  second  and  more  burly  figure 
offered  little  to  criticism,  except  ulster,  whiskers, 
spectacles,  and  deerstalker  hat.  Since  he  had  de- 
cided to  call  up  devils  from  the  underworld  of  Lon- 
don, Morris  had  pondered  deeply  on  the  probabilities 
of  their  appearance.  His  first  emotion,  like  that  of 
Charoba  when  she  beheld  the  sea,  was  one  of  disap- 
pointment; his  second  did  more  justice  to  the  case. 
Never  before  had  he  seen  a  couple  dressed  like  these; 
he  had  struck  a  new  stratum. 

*  I  must  speak  with  you  alone,'  said  he. 

*You  need  not  mind  Mr.  Appleby,'  returned 
Pitman.     '  He  knows  all.' 

'  All  ?  Do  you  know  what  I  am  here  to  speak  of  ? ' 
inquired  Morris.     *  The  barrel.' 


SOMETHING  TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        257 


Pitman  turned  pale,  but  it  was  with  manly  indig- 
nation. '  You  are  the  man  ! '  he  cried.  '  You  very- 
wicked  person ! ' 

^  Am  I  to  speak  before  him  ? '  asked  Morris,  dis- 
regarding these  severe  expressions. 

'  He  has  been  present  throughout,'  said  Pitman. 
'  He  opened  the  barrel ;  your  guilty  secret  is  already 
known  to  him,  as  well  as  to  your  Maker  and  myself.' 

'  Well,  then,'  said  Morris,  '  what  have  you  done 
with  the  money  ? ' 

*  I  know  nothing  about  any  money,'  said  Pitman. 

*  You  needn't  try  that  on,'  said  Morris.  *  I  have 
tracked  you  down ;  you  came  to  the  station  sacrile- 
giously disguised  as  a  clergyman,  procured  my  barrel, 
opened  it,  rifled  the  body,  and  cashed  the  bill.  I  have 
been  to  the  bank,  I  tell  you !  I  have  followed  you 
step  by  step,  and  your  denials  are  childish  and 
absurd.' 

^  Come,  come,  Morris,  keep  your  temper,'  said 
Mr.  Appleby. 

'  Michael ! '  cried  Morris,  *  Michael  here  too  ! ' 
'  Here  too,'  echoed  the  lawyer ;  ^  here  and  every- 
where, my  good  fellow ;  every  step  you  take  is 
counted  ;  trained  detectives  follow  you  like  your 
shadow ;  they  report  to  me  every  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  ;  no  expense  is  spared.' 


258  THE    WRONG  BOX 

Morris's  face  took  on  a  hue  of  dirty  gray.  '  Well, 
I  don't  care ;  I  have  the  less  reserve  to  keep,'  he 
cried.  '  That  man  cashed  my  bill ;  it's  a  theft,  and 
I  want  the  money  back.' 

*  Do  you  think  I  would  lie  to  you,  Morris  ? '  asked 
Michael. 

*  I  don't  know,'  said  his  cousin.  '  I  want  my 
money.' 

*It  was  I  alone  who  touched  the  body,'  began 
Michael. 

*  You  ?  Michael ! '  cried  Morris,  starting  back. 
'  Then  why  haven't  you  declared  the  death  ? ' 

*  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ? '  asked  Michael. 

*  Am  I  mad  ?  or  are  you  ? '  cried  Morris. 

*  I  think  it  must  be  Pitman,'  said  Michael. 
The  three  men  stared  at  each  other,  wild-eyed. 
*This   is   dreadful,'   said   Morris,  ^dreadful.      I 

do  not  underatand  one  word  that  is  addressed  to 
me.' 

'  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,  no  more  do  I,' 
said  Michael. 

'  And  in  God's  name,  why  whiskers  ? '  cried 
Morris,  pointing  in  a  ghastly  manner  at  his  cousin. 
*  Does  my  brain  reel  ?     How  whiskers  ? ' 

^  Oh)  that's  a  matter  of  detail,'  said  Michael. 

There  was  another  silence,  during  which  Morris 


SOMETHING    TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        259 

appeared  to  himself  to  be  shot  in  a  trapeze  as  high 
as  St.  Paul's,  and  as  low  as  Baker  Street  Station. 

'Let  us  recapitulate,'  said  Michael,  'unless  it's 
really  a  dream,  in  which  case  I  wish  Teena  would 
call  me  for  breakfast.  My  friend  Pitman,  here,  re- 
ceived a  barrel  which,  it  now  appears,  was  meant  for 
you.  The  barrel  contained  the  body  of  a  man.  How 
or  why  you  killed  him  .  .  .' 

'  I  never  laid  a  hand  on  him,'  protested  Morris. 
'  This  is  what  I  have  dreaded  all  along.  But  think, 
Michael !  I'm  not  that  kind  of  man ;  with  all  my 
faults,  I  wouldn't  touch  a  hair  of  anybody's  head, 
and  it  was  all  dead  loss  to  me.  He  got  killed  in  that 
vile  accident.' 

Suddenly  Michael  was  seized  by  mirth  so  pro- 
longed and  excessive  that  his  companions  supposed 
beyond  a  doubt  his  reason  had  deserted  him.  Again 
and  again  he  struggled  to  compose  himself,  and  again 
and  again  laughter  overwhelmed  him  like  a  tide.  In 
all  this  maddening  interview  there  had  been  no  more 
spectral  feature  than  this  of  Michael's  merriment ; 
and  Pitman  and  Morris,  drawn  together  by  the 
common  fear,  exchanged  glances  of  anxiety. 

'  Morris,'  gasped  the  lawyer,  when  he  was  at  last 
able  to  articulate,  '  hold  on,  I  see  it  all  now.     I  can 

s  2 


26o  THE    WRONG  BOX 

make  it  all  clear  in  one  word.     Here's  the  key :  7 
never  guessed  it  was  Uncle  Joseph  till  this  moment.^ 

This  remark  produced  an  instant  lightening  of 
the  tension  for  Morris  ;  for  Pitman  it  quenched  the 
last  ray  of  hope  and  daylight.  Uncle  Joseph,  whom 
he  had  left  an  hour  ago  in  Norfolk  Street,  pasting 
newspaper  cuttings  ? — it  ? — the  dead  body  ? — then 
who  was  he.  Pitman  ?  and  was  this  Waterloo  Station 
or  Colney  Hatch  ? 

*  To  be  sure  !  '  cried  Morris  ;  *  it  was  badly 
smashed,  I  know.  How  stupid  not  to  think  of  that. 
Why,  then,  all's  clear;  and,  my  dear  Michael,  I'll 
tell  you  what — we're  saved,  both  saved.  You  get  the 
tontine — I  don't  grudge  it  you  the  least — and  I  get 
the  leather  business,  which  is  really  beginning  to 
look  up.  Declare  the  death  at  once,  don't  mind  me 
in  the  smallest,  don't  consider  me ;  declare  the  death 
and  we're  all  right.' 

'  Ah,  but  I  can't  declare  it,'  said  Michael. 
^  Why  not  ?  '  cried  Morris. 

*  I  can't  produce  the  coi'pus,  Monis.  I've  lost  it,' 
said  the  lawyer. 

*  Stop  a  bit,'  ejaculated  the  leather  merchant. 
'  How  is  this  ?     It's  not  possible.     I  lost  it.' 

'  Well,  I've  lost  it  too,  my  son,'  said  Michael,  with 
extreme  serenity.  .  *  Not  recognising  it,  you  see,  and 


SOMETHING    TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        261 

suspecting  something  irregular  in  its  origin,  I  got 
rid  of — wliat  sliall  we  say  ? — got  rid  of  tlie  proceeds 
at  once.' 

'  You  got  rid  of  the  body  ?  What  made  you  do 
that  ?  '  wailed  Morris.  '  But  you  can  get  it  again  ? 
You  know  where  it  is  ?  ' 

'  I  wish  I  did,  Morris,  and  you  may  believe  me 
there,  for  it  would  be  a  small  sum  in  my  pocket ;  but 
the  fact  is,  I  don't,'  said  Michael. 

'  Good  Lord,'  said  Morris,  addressing  heaven  and 
earth,  ^  good  Lord,  I've  lost  the  leather  business.' 

Michael  was  once  more  shaken  with  laughter. 

'  Why  do  you  laugh,  you  fool  ? '  cried  his  cousin, 
'  you  lose  more  than  I.  You've  bungled  it  worse 
than  even  I  did.  If  you  had  a  spark  of  feeling,  you 
would  be  shaking  in  your  boots  with  vexation.  But 
I'll  tell  you  one  thing — I'll  have  that  eight  hundred 
pound — I'll  have  that  and  go  to  Swan  River — that's 
mine,  anyway,  and  your  friend  must  have  forged  to 
cash  it.  Give  me  the  eight  hundred,  here,  upon  this 
platform,  or  I  go  straight  to  Scotland  Yard  and  turn 
the  whole  disreputable  story  inside  out.' 

'  Morris,'  said  Michael,  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  '  hear  reason.  It  wasn't  us,  it  was  the 
other  man.     We  never  even  searched  the  body.' 

'  The  other  man  ?  '  repeated  Morris. 


262  THE    WRONG  BOX 

'  Yes,  the  other  man.  We  palmed  Uncle  Joseph 
off  upon  another  man,'  said  Michael. 

'You  what?  You  palmed  him  off?  That's  surely 
a  singular  expression,'  said  Morris. 

'  Yes,  palmed  him  off  for  a  piano,'  said  Michael 
with  perfect  simplicity.  '  Remarkably  full,  rich  tone,' 
he  added. 

Morris  carried  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  looked 
at  it ;  it  was  wet  with  sweat.     '  Fever,'  said  he. 

*  No,  it  was  a  Broadwood  grand,'  said  Michael. 
'  Pitman  here  will  tell  you  if  it  was  genuine  or  not.' 

'  Eh  ?  Oh  !  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  it  was  a  genuine 
Broadwood ;  I  have  played  upon  it  several  times 
myself,'  said  Pitman.  '  The  three-letter  E  was 
broken.' 

'  Don't  say  anything  more  about  pianos,'  said 
Morris,  with  a  strong  shudder ;  '  I'm  not  the  man  I 
used  to  be !  This — this  other  man — let's  come  to 
him,  if  I  can  only  manage  to  follow.  Who  is  he  ? 
Where  can  I  get  hold  of  him  ? ' 

*  Ah,  that's  the  rub,'  said  Michael.  '  He's  been 
in  possession  of  the  desired  article,  let  me  see — 
since  Wednesday,  about  four  o'clock,  and  is  now, 
I  should  imagine,  on  his  way  to  the  isles  of  Javan 
and  Godire.' 

'  Michael,'  said  Morris  pleadingly,   '  I  am  in   a 


SOMETHING    TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        263 

very  weak  state,  and  I  beg  your  consideration  for  a 
kinsman.  Say  it  slowly  again,  and  be  sure  you  are 
correct.     When  did  he  get  it  ?  ' 

Michael  repeated  his  statement. 

'  YeSj  that's  the  worst  thing  yet/  said  Morris, 
drawing  in  his  breath. 

'  What  is  ? '  asked  the  lawyer. 

'Even  the  dates  are  sheer  nonsense,'  said  the 
leather  merchant.  '  The  bill  was  cashed  on  Tuesday. 
There's  not  a  gleam  of  reason  in  the  whole  trans- 
action.' 

A  young  gentleman,  who  had  passed  the  trio  and 
suddenly  started  and  turned  back,  at  this  moment 
laid  a  heavy  hand  on  Michael's  shoulder. 

'  Aha,  so  this  is  Mr.  Dickson  ?  '  said  he. 

The  trump  of  judgment  could  scarce  have  rung 
with  a  more  dreadful  note  in  the  ears  of  Pitman  and 
the  lawyer.  To  Morris  this  erroneous  name  seemed 
a  legitimate  enough  continuation  of  the  nightmare 
in  which  he  had  so  long  been  wandering.  And 
when  Michael,  with  his  brand-new  bushy  whiskers, 
broke  from  the  grasp  of  the  stranger  and  turned  to 
run,  and  the  weird  little  shaven  creature  in  the  low- 
necked  shirt  followed  his  example  with  a  bird-like 
screech,  and  the  stranger  (finding  the  rest  of  his 
prey  escape   him)   pounced  with  a  rude   grasp  on 


264  THE    WRONG  BOX 

Morris  himself,  that  gentleman's  frame  of  mind 
might  be  very  nearly  expressed  in  the  colloquial 
phrase  :  '  I  told  you  so  ! ' 

'  I  have  one  of  the  gang,'  said  Gideon  Forsyth. 

^  I  do  not  understand,'  said  Morris  dully. 

*  Oh,  I  will  make  you  understand,'  returned 
Gideon  grimly. 

*  You  will  be  a  good  friend  to  me  if  you  can 
make  me  understand  anything,'  cried  Morris,  with  a 
sudden  energy  of  conviction. 

*  I  don't  know  you  personally,  do  I  ? '  continued 
Gideon,  examining  his  unresisting  prisoner.  '  Never 
mind,  I  know  your  friends.  They  are  your  friends, 
are  they  not  ?  ' 

^  I  do  not  understand  you,'  said  Morris. 
'  You  had  possibly  something  to  do  with  a  piano  ? ' 
suggested  Gideon. 

*  A  piano ! '  cried  Morris,  convulsively  clasping 
Gideon  by  the  arm.  '  Then  you're  the  other  man  ! 
Where  is  it  ?  Where  is  the  body  ?  And  did  you 
cash  the  draft  ?  ' 

'Where  is  the  body?  This  is  very  strange,' 
mused  Gideon.     '  Do  you  want  the  body  ? ' 

'  Want  it  ?  '  cried  Morris.  '  My  whole  fortune 
depends  upon  it !  I  lost  it.  Where  is  it  ?  Take 
me  to  it ! ' 


SOMETHING   TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE        265 

'  Oh,  you  want  it,  do  you  ?  And  the  other  man, 
Dickson — does  he  want  it  ? '  inquired  Gideon. 

'  Who  do  you  mean  by  Dickson  ?  Oh,  Michael 
Finsbury !  Why,  of  course  he  does  !  He  lost  it 
too.  If  he  had  it,  he'd  have  won  the  tontine  to- 
morrow.' 

'  Michael  Finsbury  !  Not  the  solicitor  ?  '  cried 
Gideon. 

'  Yes,  the  solicitor,'  said  Morris.  '  But  where  is 
the  body?' 

'  Then  that  is  why  he  sent  the  brief !  What  is 
Mr.  Finsbury 's  private  address  ?  '  asked  Gideon. 

"233  King's  Koad.  What  brief?  Where  are 
you  going  ?  Where  is  the  body  ?  '  cried  Morris, 
clinging  to  Gideon's  arm. 

'  I  have  lost  it  myself,'  returned  Gideon,  and  ran 
out  of  the  station. 


266  THE    WRONG  BOX 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE. 

Morris  returned  from  Waterloo  in  a  frame  of  mind 
that  baffles  description.  He  was  a  modest  man  ;  he 
had  never  conceived  an  overweening  notion  of  his 
own  powers ;  he  knew  himself  unfit  to  write  a  book, 
turn  a  table  napkin-ring,  entertain  a  Christmas 
party  with  legerdemain — grapple  (in  short)  any  of 
those  conspicuous  accomplishments  that  are  usually 
classed  under  the  head  of  genius.  He  knew — he 
admitted — his  parts  to  be  pedestrian,  but  he  had 
considered  them  (until  quite  lately)  fully  equal  to 
the  demands  of  life.  And  to-day  he  owned  himself 
defeated :  life  had  the  upper  hand ;  if  there  had  been 
any  means  of  flight  or  place  to  flee  to,  if  the  world 
had  been  so  ordered  that  a  man  could  leave  it  like  a 
place  of  entertainment,  Morris  would  have  instantly 
resigned  all  further  claim  on  its  rewards  and  plea- 
sures, and,  with   inexpressible  contentment,  ceased 


THE  RETURN  OF   THE   GREAT   VANCE  267 

to  be.  As  it  was,  one  aim  shone  before  him :  he 
could  get  home.  Even  as  the  sick  dog  crawls  under 
the  sofa,  Morris  could  shut  the  door  of  John  Street 
and  be  alone. 

The  dusk  was  falling  when  he  drew  near  this 
place  of  refuge ;  and  the  first  thing  that  met  his  eyes 
was  the  figure  of  a  man  upon  the  step,  alternately 
plucking  at  the  bell-handle  and  pounding  on  the 
panels.  The  man  had  no  hat,  his  clothes  were 
hideous  with  filth,  he  had  the  air  of  a  hop-picker. 
Yet  Morris  knew  him ;  it  was  John. 

The  first  impulse  of  flight  was  succeeded,  in  the 
elder  brother's  bosom,  by  the  empty  quiescence  of 
despair.  '  What  does  it  matter  now  ?  '  he  thought, 
and  drawing  forth  his  latch-key  ascended  the  steps. 

John  turned  about ;  his  face  was  ghastly  with 
weariness  and  dirt  and  fury ;  and  as  he  recognised 
the  head  of  his  family,  he  drew  in  a  long  rasping 
breath,  and  his  eyes  glittered. 

'  Open  that  door,'  he  said,  standing  back. 

'  I  am  going  to,'  said  Morris,  and  added  mentally, 
'  He  looks  like  murder ! ' 

The  brothers  passed  into  the  hall,  the  door  closed 
behind  them ;  and  suddenly  John  seized  Morris  by 
the  shoulders  and  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a 
rat.     *  You  mangy  little  cad,'  he  said,  '  I'd  serve  you 


268  THE    WRONG  BOX 

right  to  smash  your  skull ! '  And  shook  him  again, 
so  that  his  teeth  rattled  and  his  head  smote  upon  the 
wall. 

*  Don't  be  violent,  Johnny,'  said  Morris.  'It 
can't  do  any  good  now.' 

'  Shut  your  mouth,'  said  John,  '  your  time's  come 
to  listen.' 

He  strode  into  the  dining-room,  fell  into  the 
easy-chair,  and  taking  off  one  of  his  burst  walking- 
shoes,  nursed  for  awhile  his  foot  like  one  in  agony. 
'  I'm  lame  for  life,'  he  said.  '  What  is  there  for 
dinner  ? ' 

*  Nothing,  Jphnny,'  said  Morris. 

'-  Nothing  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  '  in- 
quired the  Great  Vance.  *  Don't  set  up  your  chat 
to  me ! ' 

'  I  mean  simply  nothing,'  said  his  brother.  '  I 
have  nothing  to  eat,  and  nothing  to  buy '  it  with. 
I've  only  had  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  sandwich  all  this 
day  myself.' 

'-  Only  a  sandwich  ?  '  sneered  Vance.  '  I  suppose 
you're  going  to  complain  next.  But  you  had  better 
take  care  :  I've  had  all  I  mean  to  take ;  and  I  can 
tell  you  what  it  is,  I  mean  to  dine  and  to  dine  well. 
Take  your  signets  and  sell  them.' 

'  I  can't  to-day,'  objected  Morris,  '  it's  Sunday.' 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT   VANCE  269 

^  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  dine  ! '  cried  the  younger 
brother. 

'  But  if  it's  not  possible,  Johnny  ? '  pleaded  the 
other. 

'  You  nincompoop  !  '  cried  Vance.  '  Ain't  we 
householders?  Don't  they  know  us  at  that  hotel 
where  Uncle  Parker  used  to  come  ?  Be  off  with 
you ;  and  if  you  ain't  back  in  half  an  hour,  and  if 
the  dinner  ain't  good,  first  I'll  lick  you  till  you  don't 
want  to  breathe,  and  then  I'll  go  straight  to  the 
police  and  blow  the  gaff.  Do  you  understand  that, 
Morris  Finsbury?  Because  if  you  do  you  had 
better  jump.' 

The  idea  smiled  even  upon  the  wretched  Morris, 
who  was  sick  with  famine.  He  sped  upon  his 
errand,  and  returned  to  find  John  still  nursing  his 
foot  in  the  arm-chair. 

'  What  would  you  like  to  drink,  Johnny  ? '  he 
inquired  soothingly. 

'  Fizz,'  said  John.  '  Some  of  the  poppy  stuff 
from  the  end  bin ;  a  bottle  of  the  old  port  that 
Michael  liked,  to  follow ;  and  see  and  don't  shake 
the  port.  And  look  here,  light  the  fire — and  the 
gas,  and  draw  down  the  blinds;  it's  cold  and  it's  get- 
ting dark.  And  then  you  can  lay  the  cloth.  And,  I 
say- — here,  you  !  bring  me  down  some  clothes.' 


270  THE   WRONG  BOX 


The  room  looked  comparatively  habitable  by  the 
time  the  dinner  came;  and  the  dinner  itself  was 
good :  strong  gravy  soup,  fillets  of  sole,  mutton  chops 
and  tomato  sauce,  roast  beef  done  rare  with  roast 
potatoes,  cabinet  pudding,  a  piece  of  Chester  cheese, 
and  some  early  celery:  a  meal  uncompromisingly 
British,  but  supporting. 

*  Thank  God ! '  said  John,  his  nostrils  sniffing 
wide,  surprised  by  joy  into  the  unwonted  formality 
of  grace.  '  Now  I'm  going  to  take  this  chair  with 
my  back  to  the  fire — there's  been  a  strong  frost 
these  two  last  nights,  and  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my 
bones ;  the  celery  will  be  just  the  ticket — I'm  going 
to  sit  here,  and  you  are  going  to  stand  there,  Morris 
Finsbury,  and  play  butler.' 

*But,  Johnny,  I'm  so  hungry  myself,'  pleaded 
Morris. 

*You  can  have  what  I  leave,'  said  Vance. 
*  You're  just  beginning  to  pay  your  score,  my  daisy ; 
I  owe  you  one  pound  ten ;  don't  you  rouse  the 
British  lion ! '  There  was  something  indescribably 
menacing  in  the  face  and  voice  of  the  Great  Vance 
as  he  uttered  these  words,  at  which  the  soul  of 
Morris  withered.  '  There ! '  resumed  the  feaster, 
'  give  us  a  glass  of  the  fizz  to  start  with.  Gravy 
soup  !     And  I  thought  I  didn't   like  gravy  soup  ! 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE  271 

Do  you  know  how  I  got  here  ? '  he  asked,  with 
another  explosion  of  wrath. 

^  No,  Johnny ;  how  could  I  ?  '  said  the  obsequious 
Morris. 

'  I  walked  on  my  ten  toes ! '  cried  John ; 
'  tramped  the  whole  way  from  Browndean ;  and 
begged !  I  would  like  to  see  you  beg.  It's  not  so 
easy  as  you  might  suppose.  I  played  it  on  being  a 
shipwrecked  mariner  from  Blyth ;  I  don't  know 
where  Blyth  is,  do  you  ?  but  I  thought  it  sounded 
natural.  I  begged  from  a  little  beast  of  a  school- 
boy, and  he  forked  out  a  bit  of  twine,  and  asked  me 
to  make  a  clove-hitch ;  I  did,  too,  I  know  I  did,  but 
he  said  it  wasn't,  he  said  it  was  a  granny's  knot,  and 
I  was  a  what  d'ye  call  'em,  and  he  would  give  me  in 
charge.  Then  I  begged  from  a  naval  officer — he 
never  bothered  me  with  knots,  but  he  only  gave  me 
a  tract ;  there's  a  nice  account  of  the  British  navy ! 
— and  then  from  a  widow  woman  that  sold  lollipops, 
and  I  got  a  hunch  of  bread  from  her.  Another 
party  I  fell  in  with  said  you  could  generally  always 
get  bread ;  and  the  thing  to  do  was  to  break  a 
plate-glass  window  and  get  into  jail ;  seemed  rather 
a  brilliant  scheme.     Pass  the  beef.' 

'  Why  didn't  you  stay  at  Browndean  ? '  Morris 
ventured  to  inquire. 


272  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  Skittles  ! '  said  John.  '  On  what  ?  The  ''  Pink 
'Un  "  and  a  measly  religious  paper  ?  I  had  to  leave 
Browndean ;  I  had  to,  I  tell  you.  I  got  tick  at  a 
public,  and  set  up  to  be  the  Great  Vance ;  so  would 
you,  if  you  were  leading  such  a  beastly  existence ! 
And  a  card  stood  me  a  lot  of  ale  and  stuff,  and  we 
got  swipey,  talking  about  music-halls  and  the  piles 
of  tin  I  got  for  singing ;  and  then  they  got  me  on  to 
sing  "  Around  her  splendid  form  I  weaved  the  magic 
circle,"  and  then  he  said  I  couldn't  be  Vance,  and  I 
stuck  to  it  like  grim  death  I  was.  It  was  rot  of  me 
tx)  sing,  of  course,  but  I  thought  I  could  brazen  it 
out  with  a  set  of  yokels.  It  settled  my  hash  at  the 
public,'  said  John,  with  a  sigh.  *  And  then  the  last 
thing  was  the  carpenter ' 

*  Our  landlord  ? '  inquired  Morris. 

*  That's  the  party,'  said  John.  '  He  came  nosing 
about  the  place,  and  then  wanted  to  know  where  the 
waterbutt  was,  and  the  bed-clothes.  I  told  him  to 
go  to  the  devil ;  so  would  you  too,  when  there  was 
no  possible  thing  to  say  !  And  then  he  said  I  had 
pawned  them,  and  did  I  know  it  was  felony  ?  Then 
I  made  a  pretty  neat  stroke.  I  remembered  he 
was  deaf,  and  talked  a  whole  lot  of  rot,  very  politely, 
just  so  low  he  couldn't  hear  a  word.  "  I  don't  hear 
you,"  says  he.     "  I  know  you  don't,  my  buck,  and  I 


THE   RETURN  OF  THE   GREAT  VANCE  273 

don't  mean  you  to,"  says  I,  smiling  away  like  a 
haberdasher.  "  I'm  hard  of  hearing,"  he  roars.  "I'd 
be  in  a  pretty  hot  corner  if  you  weren't,"  says  I, 
making  signs  as  if  I  was  explaining  everything.  It 
was  tip-top  as  long  as  it  lasted.  "  Well,"  he  said, 
"  I'm  deaf,  worse  luck,  but  I  bet  the  constable  can 
hear  you."  And  off  he  started  one  way,  and  I  the 
other.  They  got  a  spirit-lamp,  and  the  "  Pink  'Un," 
and  that  old  religious  paper,  and  another  periodical 
you  sent  me.  I  think  you  must  have  been  drunk — 
it  had  a  name  like  one  of  those  spots  that  Uncle 
Joseph  used  to  hold  forth  at,  and  it  was  all  full  of 
the  most  awful  swipes  about  poetry  and  the  use  of 
the  globes.  It  was  the  kind  of  thing  that  nobody 
could  read  out  of  a  lunatic  asylum.  The  "  Atheeneum," 
that  was  the  name  !     Golly,  what  a  paper  ! ' 

'  "  Athenaeum,"  you  mean,'  said  Morris. 

'  I  don't  care  what  you  call  it,'  said  John,  '  so  as 
I  don't  require  to  take  it  in !  There,  I  feel  better. 
Now  I'm  going  to  sit  by  the  fire  in  the  easy-chair ; 
pass  me  the  cheese,  and  the  celery,  and  the  bottle  of 
port — no,  a  champagne  glass,  it  holds  more.  And 
now  you  can  pitch  in ;  there's  some  of  the  fish  left, 
and  a  chop,  and  some  fizz.  Ah,'  sighed  the  refreshed 
pedestrian,  'Michael  was  right  about  that  port; 
there's  old  and  vatted  for  you !     Michael's  a  man  I 

T 


274  THE    WRONG  BOX 

like ;  he's  clever  and  reads  books,  and  the  "  Athao- 
neum,"  and  all  that ;  but  he's  not  dreary  to  meet, 
he  don't  talk  "  Athaeneum  "  like  the  other  parties ; 
why,  the  most  of  them  would  throw  a  blight  over  a 
skittle  alley!  Talking  of  Michael,  I  ain't  bored 
myself  to  put  the  question,  because  of  course  I  knew 
it  from  the  first.     You've  made  a  hash  of  it,  eh  ?  * 

*  Michael  made  a  hash  of  it,'  said  Morris,  flush- 
ing dark. 

*  What  have  we  got  to  do  with  that  ?  '  inquired 
John. 

*  He  has  lost  the  body,  that's  what  we  have  to  do 
with  it,'  cried  Morris.  *  He  has  lost  the  body,  and 
the  death  can't  be  established.' 

'  Hold  on,'  said  John.  *  I  thought  you  didn't 
want  to  ? ' 

*  Oh,  we're  far  past  that,'  said  his  brother.  '  It's 
not  the  tontine  now,  it's  the  leather  business, 
Johnny ;  it's  the  clothes  upon  our  back.' 

'  Stow  the  slow  music,'  said  John,  *  and  tell  your 
story  from  beginning  to  end.' 
Morris  did  as  he  was  bid. 

*  Well,  now,  what  did  I  tell  you  ? '  cried  the 
Great  Vance,  when  the  other  had  done.  ^  But  I 
know  one  thing,  I'm  not  going  to  be  humbugged 
out  of  my  property.' 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE  275 

*  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do,' 
said  Morris. 

'  I'll  tell  you  that,'  responded  John  with  extreme 
decision.  'I'm  going  to  put  my  interests  in  the 
hands  of  the  smartest  lawyer  in  London ;  and 
whether  you  go  to  quod  or  not  is  a  matter  of  in- 
difference to  me.' 

'  Why,  Johnny,  we're  in  the  same  boat ! '  ex- 
postulated Morris. 

'  Are  we  ?  '  cried  his  brother.  *  I  bet  we're  not ! 
Have  I  committed  forgery?  have  I  lied  about  Uncle 
Joseph  ?  have  I  put  idiotic  advertisements  in  the 
comic  papers  ?  have  I  smashed  other  people's  statues  ? 
I  like  your  cheek,  Morris  Finsbury.  No,  I've  let 
you  run  my  affairs  too  long ;  now  they  shall  go  to 
Michael.  I  like  Michael,  any  way  ;  and  it's  time  I 
understood  my  situation.' 

At  this  moment  the  brethren  were  interrupted  by 
a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  Morris,  going  timorously  to  the 
door,  received  from  the  hands  of  a  commissionaire  a 
letter  addressed  in  the  hand  of  Michael.  Its  contents 
ran  as  follows : 

*  Morris  Finsbury,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye 
of,  he  will  hear  of  Something  to  his  Advantage  at 
my  office,  in  Chancery  Lane,  at  10  a.m.  to  morrow. 

'  Michael  Finsbury.' 

t2 


276  THE    WRONG  BOX 

So  utter  was  Morris's  subjection  that  he  did  not 
wait  to  be  asked,  but  handed  the  note  to  John  as  soon 
as  he  had  glanced  at  it  himself. 

*  That's  the  way  to  write  a  letter,'  cried  John. 
'  Nobody  but  Michael  could  have  written  that.' 

And  Morris  did  not  even  claim  the  credit  of 
priority. 


ADJUSTMENT  OP  LEATHER  BUSINESS  277 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FINAL   ADJUSTMENT   OF  THE   LEATHER  BUSINESS 

FiNSBURY  brothers  were  ushered,  at  ten  the  next 
morning,  into  a  large  apartment  in  Michael's  office ; 
the  Great  Vance,  somewhat  restored  from  yesterday's 
exhaustion,  but  with  one  foot  in  a  slipper ;  Morris, 
not  positively  damaged,  but  a  man  ten  years  older 
than  he  who  had  left  Bournemouth  eight  days  before, 
his  face  ploughed  full  of  anxious  wrinkles,  his  dark 
hair  liberally  grizzled  at  the  temples. 

Three  persons  were  seated  at  a  table  to  receive 
them :  Michael  in  the  midst,  Gideon  Forsyth  on  his 
right  hand,  on  his  left  an  ancient  gentleman  with 
spectacles  and  silver  hair. 

^  By  Jingo,  it's  Uncle  Joe ! '  cried  John. 

But  Morris  approached  his  uncle  with  a  pale 
countenance  and  glittering  eyes. 

'  I'll  tell  you  what  you  did  !  '  he  cried.  '  You  ab- 
sconded ! ' 


278  THE   WRONG  BOX 

*  Good  morning,  Morris  Finsbury/  returned 
Joseph,  with  no  less  asperity ;  ^  you  are  looking 
seriously  ill.' 

*  No  use  making  trouble  now,'  remarked  Michael. 
*  Look  the  facts  in  the  face.  Your  uncle,  as  you  see, 
was  not  so  much  as  shaken  in  the  accident ;  a  man 
of  your  humane  disposition  ought  to  be  delighted.' 

'  Then,  if  that's  so,'  Morris  broke  forth,  *  how 
about  the  body  ?  You  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that 
thing  I  schemed  and  sweated  for,  and  colported  with 
my  own  hands,  was  the  body  of  a  total  stranger  ? ' 

*  Oh  no,  we  can't  go  as  far  as  that,'  said  Michael 
soothingly ;  *  you  may  have  met  him  at  the  club.' 

Morris  fell  into  a  chair.  '  I  would  have  found  it 
out  if  it  had  come  to  the  house,'  he  complained. 
*  And  why  didn't  it  ?  why  did  it  go  to  Pitman  ? 
what  right  had  Pitman  to  open  it  ?  ' 

*  If  you  come  to  that,  Morris,  what  have  you  done 
with  the  colossal  Hercules  ? '  asked  Michael. 

'He  went  through  it  with  the  meat-axe,'  said 
John.     '  It's  all  in  spillikens  in  the  back  garden.' 

*  Well,  there's  one  thing,'  snapped  Morris ;  '  there's 
my  uncle  again,  my  fraudulent  trustee.  He's  mine, 
anyway.  And  the  tontine  too.  I  claim  the  tontine  ; 
I  claim  it  now.     I  believe  Uncle  Masterman's  dead.' 

^  I  must  put  a  stop  to  this  nonsense,'  said  Michael, 


ADJUSTMENT  OF  LEATHER  BUSINESS  279 

'  and  that  for  ever.  You  say  too  near  the  truth.  In 
one  sense  your  uncle  is  dead,  and  has  been  so  long ; 
but  not  in  the  sense  of  the  tontine,  which  it  is  even 
on  the  cards  he  may  yet  live  to  win.  Uncle  Joseph 
saw  him  this  morning ;  he  will  tell  you  he  still  lives, 
but  his  mind  is  in  abeyance.' 

'  He  did  not  know  me,'  said  Joseph ;  to  do  him 
justice,  not  without  emotion. 

^  So  you're  out  again  there,  Morris,'  said  John. 
'  My  eye,  what  a  fool  you've  made  of  yourself ! ' 

'And  that  was  why  you  wouldn't  compromise,' 
said  Morris. 

'As  for  the  absurd  position  in  which  you  and 
Uncle  Joseph  have  been  making  yourselves  an  exhi- 
bition,' resumed  Michael,  '  it  is  more  than  time  it 
came  to  an  end.  I  have  prepared  a  proper  discharge 
in  full,  which  you  shall  sign  as  a  preliminary.' 

'  What ! '  cried  Morris,  '  and  lose  my  seven 
thousand  eight  hundred  pounds,  and  the  leather 
business,  and  the  contingent  interest,  and  get  no- 
thing ?     Thank  you.' 

'  It's  like  you  to  feel  gratitude,  Morris,'  began 
Michael. 

'  Oh,  I  know  it's  no  good  appealing  to  you,  you 
sneering  devil!'  cried  Morris.  'But  there's  a 
stranger  present,  I  can't  think  why,  and  I  appeal  to 


28o  THE    WRONG  BOX 

him.  I  was  robbed  of  this  money  when  I  was  an 
orphan,  a  mere  child,  at  a  commercial  academy. 
Since  then,  I've  never  had  a  wish  but  to  get  back  my 
own.  You  may  hear  a  lot  of  stuff  about  me ;  and 
there's  no  doubt  at  times  I  have  been  ill-advised. 
But  it's  the  pathos  of  my  situation ;  that's  what  I 
want  to  show  you.' 

'Morris,'  interrupted  Michael,  'I  do  wish  you 
would  let  me  add  one  point,  for  I  think  it  will  affect 
your  judgment.  It's  pathetic  too — since  that's  your 
taste  in  literature.' 

'  Well,  what  is  it  ?  '  said  Morris. 

'  It's  only  the  name  of  one  of  the  persons  who's 
to  witness  your  signature,  Morris,'  replied  Michael. 

*  His  name's  Moss,  my  dear.' 

There  was  a  long  silence.  '  I  might  have  been 
sure  it  was  you ! '  cried  Morris. 

'  You'll  sign,  won't  you  ? '  said  Michael. 

'  Do  you  know  what  you're  doing  ?  '  cried  Morris. 

*  You're  compounding  a  felony.' 

*  Very  well,  then,  we  won't  compound  it,  Morris,' 
returned  Michael.  '  See  how  little  I  understood  the 
sterling  integrity  of  your  character !  I  thought  you 
would  prefer  it  so.' 

'  Look  here,  Michael,'  said  John,  '  this  is  all  very 
fine  and  large  ;  but  how  about  me  ?     Morris  is  gone 


ADJUSTMENT  OF  LEATHER  BUSINESS  281 

up,  I  see  tliat ;  but  I'm  not.  And  I  was  robbed,  too, 
mind  you  ;  and  just  as  much  an  orphan,  and  at  the 
blessed  same  academy  as  himself.' 

'  Johnny,'  said  Michael,  '  don't  you  think  you'd 
better  leave  it  to  me  ?  ' 

'  I'm  your  man,'  said  John.  '  You  wouldn't  de- 
ceive a  poor  orphan,  I'll  take  my  oath.  Morris,  you 
sign  that  document,  or  I'll  start  in  and  astonish  your 
weak  mind.' 

With  a  sudden  alacrity,  Morris  proffered  his  will- 
ingness. Clerks  were  brought  in,  the  discharge  was 
executed,  and  there  was  Joseph  a  free  man  once  more. 

'  And  now,'  said  Michael,  '  hear  what  I  propose 
to  do.  Here,  John  and  Morris,  is  the  leather  busi- 
ness made  over  to  the  pair  of  you  in  partnership.  I 
have  valued  it  at  the  lowest  possible  figure,  Pozram 
and  Jenis's.  And  here  is  a  cheque  for  the  balance 
of  your  fortune.  Now  you  see,  Morris,  you  start 
fresh  from  the  commercial  academy;  and  as  you 
said  yourself  the  leather  business  was  looking  up,  I 
suppose  you'll  probably  marry  before  long.  Here's 
your  marriage  present — from  a  Mr.  Moss.' 

Morris  bounded  on  his  cheque  with  a  crimsoned 
countenance. 

'  I  don't  understand  the  performance,'  remarked 
John,     '  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true.' 


282  THE    WRONG  BOX 

*  It's  simply  a  readjustment,'  Michael  explained. 
*  I  take  up  Uncle  Joseph's  liabilities  ;  and  if  he  gets 
the  tontine,  it's  to  be  mine  ;  if  my  father  gets  it,  it's 
mine  any  way,  you  see.  So  that  I'm  rather  advan- 
tageously placed.' 

*  Morris,  my  unconverted  friend,  you've  got  left,' 
was  John's  comment. 

*  And  now,  Mr.  Forsyth,'  resumed  Michael,  turn- 
ing to  his  silent  guest,  *  here  are  all  the  criminals 
before  you,  except  Pitman.  I  really  didn't  like  to 
interrupt  his  scholastic  career ;  but  you  can  have 
him  arrested  at  the  seminary — I  know  his  hours. 
Here  we  are  then ;  we're  not  pretty  to  look  at ;  what 
do  you  propose  to  do  with  us  ?  ' 

*  Nothing  in  the  world,  Mr.  Finsbury,'  returned 
Gideon.  '  I  seem  to  understand  that  this  gentle- 
man ' — ^indicating  Morris — ^  is  the  fans  et  origo  of  the 
trouble;  and,  from  what  I  gather,  he  has  already 
paid  through  the  nose.  And  really,  to  be  quite  frank, 
I  do  not  see  who  is  to  gain  by  any  scandal ;  not  me, 
at  least.  And  besides,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  that 
brief.' 

Michael  blushed.  '  It  was  the  least  I  could  do  to 
let  you  have  some  business,'  he  said.  '  But  there's 
one  thing  more.  I  don't  want  you  to  misjudge  poor 
Pitman,  who  is  the  most  harmless  being  upon  earth. 


ADJUSTMENT  OF  LEATHER  BUSINESS  283 

I  wish  you  would  dine  witli  me  to-night,  and  see  the 
creature  on  his  native  heath — say  at  Verrey's  ?  ' 

'  I  have  no  engagement,  Mr.  Finsbury,'  replied 
Gideon.  '  I  shall  be  delighted.  But — subject  to 
your  judgment; — can  Ave  do  nothing  for  the  man  in 
the  cart  ?     I  have  qualms  of  conscience.' 

'  Nothing  but  sympathise/  said  Michael. 


PRINTED    BY 

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LONDON 


J'JL.l<TJJJ^:El-Yr     1889. 

GENERAL  LISTS  OF  WORKS 

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!    Arnold's  Lectures  on  Modem  History.    8vo.  7s.  6d. 
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EPOCHS    OF    ANCIENT    HISTORY. 

Edited  by  the  Rev.  Sir  G.  W.  Cox,  Bart.  M.A.  and  by  C.  Sanket,  M.A.. 
10  volumes,  fcp.  8vo.  with  Maps,  price  2*.  6d.  each. 

The  Gracclii,  Marins,  and  Sulla.    By  A.  H.  Beesly,  M.A.    "With  2  Maps. 

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The  Roman  Empire  of  the  Second  Century.    By  the  Rev.  W.  Wolfe  Capes,  M.A. 

With  2  Maps. 
The  Athenian  Empire  from  the  Flight  of  Xerxes  to  the  Fall  of  Athens.    By  the 

Rev.  Sir  G-.  W.  Cox,  Bart.  M.A.  With  5  Maps. 
The  Rise  of  the  Macedonian  Empire.  By  Arthur  M.  Curteis,  M.A.  With  8  Maps. 
The  Greeks  and  the  Persians.  By  the  Rev.  Sir  G.  W.  Cox,  Bart.  With  4  Maps. 
Rome  to  its  Capture  by  the  Gauls.  By  Wilhelm  Ihne.  With  a  Map. 
The  Roman  Triumvirates.  By  the  Very  Rev.  Charles  Merivale,  D.D.  With  Map. 
The  Spartan  and  Theban  Supremacies.  By  Charles  Sankey,  M.A.  With  5  Maps. 
Rome  and  Carthage,  the  Punic  Wars.    By  R.  Bosworth  Smith.    With  9  Maps. 

EPOCHS    OF    MODERN    HISTORY. 

Edited  by  C.  Colbeck,  M.A.  19  volumes,  fcp.  Svo.  with  Maps.  Price  2,?.  Gd.  each. 

The  Beginning  of  the  Middle  Ages.   By  the  Very  Rev.R.  W.  Church.  With  3  Maps. 

The  j^ormans  in  Europe.    By  Rev.  A.  H.  Johnson,  M.A.    With  3  Maps. 

The  Crusades.    By  the  Rev.  Sir  G.  W.  Cox,  Bart.  M.A.    With  a  Map. 

The  Early  Plantagenets.     By  the  Right  Rev.  W.  Stubbs,  D.D.    With  2  Maps. 

Edward  the  Third.    By  the  Rev.  W.  Warhurton,  M.A.    With  3  Maps. 

The  Houses  of  Lancaster  and  York.    By  James  Gairdner.    With  5  Maps. 

The  Early  Tudors.    By  the  Rev.  C.  E.  Moberly,  M.A. 

The  Era  of  the  Protestant  Revolution.    By  F.  Seebohm.    With  4  Maps. 

The  Age  of  Elizabeth.    By  the  Rev.  M.  Creighton,  M.A.  LL.D.    With  5  Maps. 

The  First  Two  Stuarts.     By  Samuel  Rawson  Gardiner.    With  4  Maps. 

The  Thirty  Years'  War,  1618-1648.    By  Samuel  Rawson  Gardiner.    With  a  ]Map 

The  English  Restoration  and  Louis  XIV.,  1648-1678.    By  Osmund  Airy. 

The  Fall  of  the  Stuarts.    By  the  Rev.  Edward  Hale,  M.A.    With  11  Maps. 

The  Age  of  Anne.    By  E.  E.  Morris,  M.A.    With  7  Maps  and  Plans. 

The  Early  Hanoverians.    By  E.  E.  Morris,  M.A.    With  9  Maps  and  Planp. 

Frederick  the  Great  and  the  Seven  Years'  War.  By  F.  W.  Longman.  With  2  :Maps. 

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The  French  Revolution,  1789-1795.    By  Mrs.  S.  R.  Gardiner.    With  7  Maps. 

The  Epoch  of  Reform,  1830-1850.    By  Justin  McCarthy,  M.P. 

EPOCHS    OF    CHURCH    HISTORY. 

Edited  by  the  Rev.  Maxdell  Creigiitox.    Fcp.  Svo.  price  2s.  6d.  each. 

The  English  Church  in  other  Lands.    By  the  Rev.  H.  W.  Tucker. 

The  Hifetory  of  the  Reformation  in  England.    By  the  Rev.  George  G.  Peny. 

The  Church  of  the  Early  Fathers.     By  Alfred  Plummer,  D.D. 

The  Evangelical  Revival  in  the  Eighteenth  Century.    By  the  Rev.  J.  H.  Overtoil. 

A  History  of  the  University  of  Oxford.    By  the  Hon.  G.  C.  Brodrick,  D.C.L. 

A  History  of  the  University  of  Cambridge.    By  J.  Bass  MuUinger,  M.A. 

The  English  Church  in  the  Middle  Ages.    By  Rev.  W.  Hunt,  M.A. 

The  Arian  Controversy.    By  H.  M.  Gwatkin,  M.A. 

The  Counter-Reformation.    By  A.  W.  Ward. 

The  Church  and  the  Roman  Empire.    By  the  Rev.  A.  Carr. 

The  Church  and  the  Puritans,  1570-1660.    By  Henry  Offley  Wakemau. 

The  Church  and  the  Eastern  Empire.    By  the  Rev.  H.  F.  Tozer. 

Hildebrand  and  His  Times.    By  the  Rev.  W.  R.  W.  Stephens. 

The  Popes  and  the  Hohenstaufen.    By  Ugo  Balzani. 

•»»  Other  Volumes  are  in  irreparation. 


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Bacon's  Life  and  Letters,  by  Spedding.    7  vols.  8vo.  £4.  4t. 
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Oarlyle's  Life,  by  J.  A.  Fronde.    8vo.    Vols.  1  &  3, 1796-1836,  8S«.    Vols.  8  &  4, 
1834-1881,  834. 
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Ben  Jonson.     By  J.  A.  Symonds. 
George  Canning.    By  Frank  H.  Hill. 
Claverhouse.    By  Mowbray  Morris. 


Charles  Darwin.    By  Grant  Allen. 

Shaftesbury  (The  First  Earl).    By 
H.  D.  Traill. 

Admiral  Blake.  By  David  Hannay. 

Marlborough.  By  Geo:  Saintsbury. 
Fox  (Charles  James)  The  Early  History  of.    By  Sir  G.  0.  Trevelyan,  Bart. 

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Jenkin's  (Fleeming)  Papers,  Literary,  Sciontiflo,  &a    With  Memoir  by  R,  L. 

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Bagehot's  Economic  Studies,  edited  by  Button.    8vo.  IO4.  6<i. 
Bain's  Logic,  Deductive  and  Inductive.    Crown  8vo.  IO4.  6d. 

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Barnett's  Practicable  Socialism.    Crown  8vo.  2s.  6d. 
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Sandars's  Institutes  of  Justinian,  with  English  Notes.    Svo.  IS*. 
Seebohm's  English  VUlage  Community.    Svo.  16*. 

Sully's  Outlines  of  Psychology.    Svo.  12*.  6d. 

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Swinburne's  Picture  Logic.    Post  Svo.  5*. 

Thompson's  A  System  of  Psychology.    2  vols.  Svo.  36*. 

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Thomson's  Outline  of  Necessary  Laws  of  Thought.    Crown  Svo.  6s. 
Webb's  The  Veil  of  Isis.    8vo.  10*.  Gd, 

Whately's  Elements  of  Logic.    Crown  Svo.  4*.  Gd. 

—  —       —  Rhetoric.    Crown  Svo.  4*.  Gd. 
Wylie's  Labour,  Leisure,  and  Luxury.    Crown  Svo.  6*. 

Zeller's  History  of  Eclecticism  in  Greek  Philosophy.    Crown  Svo.  10*.  64 

—  Plato  and  the  Older  Academy.    Crown  Svo.  18*. 

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—  The  Nicomachean  Ethics,  translated  by  Williams,  crown  8to.  7<.  Sd, 

—  The  Politic*,  Books  I.  m.  IV.  (VII.)  with  Translation,  Ac.  by 

Bolland  and  I^ug.    Crown  8yo.  7«.  6d. 
Becker's  Chariclet  and  Oalliu,  by  Metcalfe.    Poet  Svo.  7s.  6±  each. 
Oioero's  Correspondence,  Text  and  Notes,  by  R.  Y.  Tyrrell.    Vols.  I  &  2,  8vo. 

Il«.  each. 
Mahaliys  Classical  Greek  Literature.    Crown  8vo.    Vol.  1,  The  Poets,  7j.  M, 

VoL  2,  The  Proee  Writers,  7«.  M. 
Plato's  Parmenidee,  with  Notes,  Ac.  by  J.  Magulre.    8vo.  7s.  6d. 
Virgil's  Works,  Latin  Text,  with  Commentary,  by  Kennedy.    Crown  8vo.  10*.  8d. 

—  JBntiii,  translated  Into  English  Verse,  by  Conington.       Crown  8vo.  C#. 

—  —  —  ———     byW.J.Thomhill.Cr.8vo.7«.6<J. 

—  Poems,        —  —        —      Prose,  by  Conington.     Crown  8vo.  6j. 
Witt's  Myths  of  Bellas,  translated  by  F.  M.  Younghosband.    Crown  8vo.  84.  6d, 

—  The  Trojan  War,  —  —  Fop.  8vo.  2s. 

—  The  Wanderings  of  Ulyisee,  —  Crown  8vo.  3*.  64 


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Oatei'i  Dictionary  of  Gheneral  Biography.    Mediom  8vo.  284. 
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Reeve's  Cookery  and  Housekeeping.    Crown  8vo.  64. 
Rich's  Dictionary  of  Roman  and  Greek  Antiquities.    Crown  8vo.  74.  Bd, 
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Universe  of  Stars.    With  22  Charts  and  22  Diagrams.    Svo.  10*.  6d. 

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Chance  and  Luck  :  a  Discussion  of  the  Laws  of  Luck,  &c.    Crown  8vo.  5s. 

Larger  Star  Atlas  for  the  Library,  in  12  Circular  Maps.    Folio,  15s. ;  or  the  12 

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Transits  of  Venus.   With  20  Lithographic  Plates  and  38  Illustrations.   8vo.  8s.  M. 
Studies  of  Venus-Transits.    With  7  Diagrams  and  10  Plates.    Svo.  5*. 
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Lessons  in  Elementary  Astronomy.    With  47  Woodcuts.    Pep.  Svo.  Is.  Qd, 
First  Steps  in  Geometry.    Pep.  Svo.  Zs.  6d. 
Easy  Lessons  in  the  Differential  Calculus.    Pep.  Svo.  2s.  6d. 
Great  Circle  Sailing  ;  Indicating  the  Shortest  Sea-Eoutes.    4to.  Is.  sewed. 
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How  to  Play  Whist,  with  the  Laws  and  Etiquette  of  Whist.    By  '  Five  of  Clubs' 

(Richard  A.  Proctor).    Crown  Svo.  5s. 
Home  "Whist :  an  Easy  Guide  to  Correct  Play,  according  to  the  latest  Develop- 
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The  Poetry  of  Astronomy  :  a  Series  of  Familiar  Essays  on  the  Heavenly  Bodies. 

By  Richard  A.  Proctor.    Crown  Svo.  6s. 
The  Stars  in  tlieir  Seasons.    By  Richard  A.  Proctor.    Imperial  Svo.  5*. 
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The  Seasons  Pictured  in  Forty-eight  Sun- Views  of  the  Earth,  and  Twenty-four 

Zodiacal  Maps  and  other  Drawings.    By  Richard  A.  Proctor.    Demy  4to.  6i. 
The  Star  Primer;  showing  the  Starry  Sky,  week  by  week,  in  24  Hourly  Maps. 

By  Richard  A.  Proctor,    Crown  4to.  2s.  6d. 
Nature  Studies.    By  Grant  Allen,  Andrew  Wilson,  E.  Clodd,  and  R.  A.  Proctor. 

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Our  Place  Among  Infinities.    By  Richard  A.  Proctor.    Crown  Svo.  5s. 
The  Expanse  of  Heaven  :  a  Series  of  Essays  on  the  Wonders  of  the  Firmament. 

By  Richard  A.  Proctor.    Crown  Svo.  5s. 
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Myths  and  Marvels  of  Astronomy.    By  Richard  A.  Proctor.    Crown  Svo.  Gs. 
The  Great  Pyramid :  Observatory,  Tomb,  and  Temple.    By  Richard  A.  Proctor 

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Amott'8  Elements  of  Physics  or  Natural  Fhiloeophy.    Crown  8vo.  12j.  6d.  j 

Barrett's   English   Glees  and    Part-Sougs :    their    Historical    Development.    ; 
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Bourne's  Catechism  of  the  Steam  Engine.    Crown  8vo.  7j.  6d. 

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—  Recent  Improvements  in  the  Steam  Engine.    Fcp.  8vo.  6«. 
Clerk's  The  Gas  Engine.    With  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo.  7s.  6d. 
Clodd'B  The  Story  of  Creation.    Illustrated.    Crown  870.  6*. 
Crookes's  Select  Methods  in  Chemical  AnalyslB.    8vo.  34j. 
OaUe7*8  Handbook  of  Practical  Telegraphy.    8vo.  I6<. 

IkiriMdm'i  Useful  Information  for  Engineers.    8  vols,  crown  8vo.  31«.  M, 

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Forbes*  Lectures  on  Eloctiicity.    Crown  8vo.  6*. 

Galloway's  Principles  of  Chemistry  Practically  Taught.    Crown  8vo.  ft*.  6d. 
Ganot's  Elementary  Treatise  on  Physics,  by  Atkinson.    Large  crown  8vo.  l&i. 

—  Natural  Fbilooophy,  by  Atkinson.    Crown  Svo.  It.  6d. 
Gibson's  Text-Book  of  Elementary  Biology.    Crown  Svo.  Cj. 
Hanghton's  Six  Lectures  on  Physical  Geography.    Svo.  16«. 
Helmholtz  on  the  Sensations  of  Tone.    Royal  Svo.  28«. 

Helmboltx's  Lectures  on  Scientific  Subjects.    S  vols,  crown  Svo.  7j.  M.  each. 

Herscliel's  Outlines  of  Astronomy.    Square  crown  Svo.  12j. 

Hudson  and  Gome's  The  Rotifera  or  '  Wheel  Animalcules.'    With  30  Coloured 

Plates.    6  parts.  4to.  IOj.  6d.  each.    Complete,  2  vols.  4to.  £3.  lOt. 
Hullah's  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Modem  Music    Svo.  8j.  Bd. 

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Jackson's  Aid  to  Engineering  Solution.    Royal  Svo.  21<. 
Jago's  Inorganic  Chemistry,  Theoretical  and  Practical.    Fcp.  Svo.  2s:  6d. 
Jeans'  Handbook  for  the  Stars.    Royal  Svo.  .'>.«. 
Kolbe's  Short  Text-Book  of  Inorganic  Chemistry.    Crown  Svo.  U.  dd. 
Lloyd's  Treatise  on  Magnetism.    Svo.  IOj.  6d. 

ICacalister's  Zoology  and  Morphology  of  Vertebrate  Animals.    Svo.  10*.  6d. 
Macf arren's  Lectures  on  Harmony.    Svo.  1 2s. 

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Martin's  Navigation  and  Nautical  Astronomy.    Royal  Svo.  I81. 
Meyer's  Modem  Theories  of  Chemistry.    Svo.  I85. 
Miller's  Elements  of  Chemistry,  Theoretical  and  Practical.    8  vols,  Svo.    Part  1. 

Chemical  Phj-sics,  16i.    Part  II.  Inorganic  Chemistry,  24j.  Part  HI.  Organic 

Chemistry,  price  'Sis.  6d. 
Mitchell's  Manual  of  Practical  Assaying.    Svo.  31*.  id. 

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Noble's  Hours  with  a  Tliree-inch  Telescope.    Crown  Svo.  4*.  6d. 
Northoott's  Lathes  and  Turning.    Svo.  IS*. 

Oliver's  Astronomy  for  Amateurs.    Crown  Svo.  7s.  6d. 

Owen's  Comparative  Anatomy  and  Physiology  of   the  Vertebrate  Animals. 

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Klchardson's  The  Health  of  Nations  ;  Works  and  Life  of  Edwin  Chadwick,  C.B. 
2  vols.  8vo.  28*. 
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Schellen's  Spectrum  Analysis.    Bvo.  31s.  6d. 
Scott's  Weather  Charts  and  Storm  Warnings,    Crown  8vo.  63. 
Bennett's  Treatise  on  the  Marine  Steam  Engine.    8vo.  21*. 
Smith's  Graphics,  or  the  Art  of  Calculation  by  Drawing  Lines.   Four  Parts.  8yo. 
Stoney's  The  Theory  of  the  Stresses  on  Girders,  (fee.    Koyai  8vo.  36*. 
Tilden's  Practical  Chemistry.    Fcp.  8vo.  Is.  6d. 
Tyndall'B  Faraday  as  a  Discoverer.    Crown  8vo.  3s.  6<f. 

—  Floating  Matter  of  the  Air.    Crown  8vo.  7s.  6d. 

—  Fragments  of  Science.    2  vols,  post  8vo.  16*. 

—  Heat  a  Mode  of  Motion.    Crown  8vo.  12*. 

—  Lectures  on  Light  delivered  in  America.    Crown  8vo.  5*. 

—  Lessons  on  Electricity.    Crown  8vo.  2*.  6d. 

—  Notes  on  Electrical  Phenomena.    Crown  8vo.  1*.  sewed,  1*.  &d.  cloth. 

—  Kotes  of  Lectures  on  Light.    Crown  8vo.  1*.  sewed,  1*.  6d.  cloth. 

—  Eesearches  on  Diamagnetism  and  Magne-Crystallic  Action.    Cr.  8to. 

12*. 

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Unwin's  The  Testing  of  Materials  of  Construction.    Illustrated.    8vo.  21*. 
Watts'  Dictionary  of  Chemistry.    New  Edition  (4  vols.).    Vol.  1,  8vo.  42*. 
Webb's  Celestial  Objects  for  Common  Telescopes.    Crown  8vo.  9*. 


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Bennett  and  Murray's  Handbook  of  Cryptogamic  Botany.    8vo. 
Dixon's  Rural  Bird  Life.    Crown  8vo.  Illustrations,  5*. 
Hartwig's  Aerial  World,  Bvo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Polar  World,  8vo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Sea  and  its  Living  Wonderi.    8vo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Subterranean  World,  8vo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Tropical  World,  Bvo.  10*.  6d, 
Lindley's  Treasury  of  Botany.    2  vols.  fcp.  8vo.  12*. 
Loudon's  Encyclopaedia  of  Gardening.    8vo.  21*. 

—  —  Plants.    8vo.  42*. 
Wvers's  Orchard  House.    Crown  8vo.  5s. 

—  Miniature  Fruit  Garden.    Fcp.  «vo.  4*. 
Stanley's  Familiar  History  of  British  Birds.    Crown  8vo.  6*. 
Wood's  Bible  Animals.    With  112  Vignettes.    8vo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Homes  Without  Hands,  Bvo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Insects  Abroad,  8vo.  10*.  6d. 

—  Horse  and  Man.    8vo.  14*. 

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10 


General  Lists  of  Works. 


THEOLOGICAL    AND    RELIGIOUS    WORKS. 

A.mold'B  (Rev,  Dr.  Thomas)  Sermons.    6  vols,  crown  8vo.  5*.  eaclu 

Boultbee's  Commentary  on  the  39  Articles.    Crown  8va  6t. 

browne'B  (Bishop)  Exposition  of  the  39  Articles.    8to.  16<. 

BuUinger's  Critical  Lexicon  and  Concordance  to  the  English  and  Qretk  New 

Testament.    Boyal  8vo.  lbs. 
Oolenso  on  the  Pentateuch  and  Book  of  Joshua.    Crown  8vo,  6j. 
Gender's  Handbook  of  the  Bible.    Post  8vo.  7*.  M. 
Couybeare  &  Howson's  Life  and  Letters  of  St.  Paul  :— 

Library  Edition,  with  Mape,  Plates,  and  Woodcuts.    2  vols,  square  crown 
Sto.  ilt. 

Student's  Edition,  revised  and  condensed,  with  46  Illnstratlons  and  Mape. 
1  vol.  crown  8vo.  tt. 
Davidson's  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the  New  Testament.    2  vols.  8vo.  30*. 
Bdersheim'B  Lifb  and  Times  of  Jesus  the  Messiah.    8  vols.  8va  2lt. 

—  Prophecy  and  History  in  relation  to  the  Messiah.    8vo.  12«. 
BUlcotfs  (Bishop)  Commentary  on  St.  Paul's  Epistles.   8vo.   Corinthians  1. 16«. 

Oalatianfl,  84.  6<f.    Ephcsians,  8*.  6<2.    Pastoral    Epistles, 
\0s.  M.    Philippians,  OoloaBianB  and  Philemon,  lOt.  6d, 
Thessalonians,  7s.  M. 
—  —       Lectures  on  the  Life  of  our  Lord.    8vo.  lf«. 

Bwald's  Antiquities  of  Israel,  translated  by  Solly.    8vo.  12*.  M. 

—  History  of  Israel,  translated  by  Carpenter  &  Smith.    8  vols.  8vo.   Vols. 

I  &  2,  S4a    Vols.  8  4i  4,  31*.   YoL  5,  18*.    YoL  6,  IS*.    YoL  7,  21*. 

Vol.  8,  18*. 
Hobart's  Medical  Laognige  of  fife.  Luke.    8vo.  16*. 
Hopkins's  Christ  tha  Ooosoler.    Pop.  8vo.  is.ed.  , ,  -^ ,  >,  . 

Hutchinson's  The  Record  of  a  Human  Soul.    Pep.  8vo.  3*.  6^, 
Jaui«fion's  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art.    6  vols,  square  8vo. 
Legends  of  the  Madonna.    1  vol  21*. 

—  —    —    Mcmastio  Orders    1  vol.  21*. 

-.    —    .    Saints  and  Martyrs.    2  vols.  81*.  9d. 

—  —    —    Saviour.    Completed  by  Lady  Eastlake.    2  vols.  4Sj. 
Jnkes's  New  Man  and  the  Eternal  Life.    Crown  8vo.  6*. 

—  Second  Death  and  the  Restitution  of  all  Things.    Crown  8vo.  3*.  6d. 

—  Types  of  Genesis.    Crown  8vo.  7*.  6d. 

—  The  Mystery  of  the  Kingdom.    Crown  8vo.  3*.  64. 

—  The  Names  of  God  in  Holy  Scripture.    Crown  Svo.  4*.  6d. 
Lenormant's  New  Translation  of  the  Book  of  Cknesis.   Translated  into  English. 

bvu.  llM.  (kt 
Lyra  Germanica  :  Hymns  translated  by  Miss  Winkworth.    Fcp.  Svo.  St. 
Maodouald's  (O.)  Unspoken  Sermons.    Two  Series.    Crown  Svo.  3*.  6d.  each, 

—  The  Miracles  of  our  Lord.    Crown  Svo.  3*.  6d. 

Manning's  Temporal  Mission  of  the  Holy  Ghost.    Crown  Svo.  8*.  6i. 
Marti  oeau's  Endeavours  after  the  Christian  Life.    Crown  Svo.  7*.  &d. 

—  Hymns  of  Praise  and  Prayer.    Crown  Svo.  4*.  M.    32mo.  1*.  M, 

—  Sermons,  Hours  of  Thought  on  Sacred  Things.    2  vols.  7*.  Sd.  each. 
Max  Mttller's  Origin  and  Growth  of  Religion.    Crown  Svo.  7*.  6d. 

—        —       Science  of  Religion.    Crown  Svo.  7*.  64. 
Monsell's  Spiritual  Songs  for  Sundays  and  Holidays.    Fcp.  Svo.  5*.    ISmo.  2*. 


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General  Lists  of  Works.  11 


Newman's  Apologia  pro  Vita  Sua.    Crown  8vo.  6i. 

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General  Lists  of  Works. 


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cioth^ 

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Lotbalr.  Endymion. 

The  Younfc  Doke,  Lc. 

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The  Qoeen's  MaziotL 
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A  OUmpee  of  the  World. 

Katharine  Ashton. 

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Laneton  Parsonage. 
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13 


POETRY    AND    THE    DRAMA, 

Armstrong's  (Ed.  J.)  Poetical  Works.    Fcp.  8vo.  6«. 
—  (G.  F.)  Poetical  Works  :— 

Poems,  Lyrical  and  Dramatic.  Fcp, 


Stories  of  Wicklow.    Fcp.  8vo.  9*. 
Mephistopheles  in  Broadcloth:  a 

Satire.    Fcp.  8vo.  4.?. 
Victoria  Regina  et  Imperatrix :  a 

Jubilee  Song  from  Ireland,  1887. 

4to.  2s.  6d. 


Fcp.  8vo.  6*. 
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8vo.  6*. 

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A  Garland  from  Greece.  Fcp.  8yo.9s. 

King  Saul.    Fcp.  8vo.  5s. 

King  David.  Fcp.  8to.  6*. 

King  Solomon.    Fcp.  8vo.  6s. 
Ballads  of  Books.    Edited  by  Andrew  Lang. 
Bowen's  Harrow  Songs  and  other  Verses. 

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Bowdler's  Family  Shakespeare.    Medium  8vo.  14*.    6  vols.  fcp.  8vo.  21*. 
Dante's  Divine  Comedy,  translated  by  James  Innes  Minchin.    Crown  8vo.  Ifii, 
Deland's  The  Old  Garden,  and  other  Verses.    Fcp.  8vo.  5.?. 
Goethe's  Faust,  translated  by  Birds.    Large  crown  8vo.  12*.  6d. 

—  —      translated  by  Webb.    8vo.  12*.  6d. 

—  —      edited  by  Selss.    Crown  8vo.  5*. 
Ingelow's  Poems.    2  Vols.  fcp.  8vo.  12*. ;  Vol.  3,  fcp.  8vo.  5s. 

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Newman's  The  Dream  of  Gerontius.    16mo.  6d.  sewed  ;  1*.  cloth. 

—  Verses  on  Various  Occasions.    Fcp.  Svo.  6*. 

Reader's  Voices  from  Flowerland  :  a  Birthday  Book.   2*.  6d.  cloth,  3*.  Gd.  roan. 

Riley's  Old-Fashioned  Roses.    Fcp.  Svo.  5a-. 

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Sumner's  The  Besom  Maker,  and  other  Country  Folk  Songs.    4to.  2*.  6d. 

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SPORTS    AND    PASTIMES. 

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Ford's  Theory  and  Practice  of  Archery,  revised  by  W.  Butt.    Svo.  14*. 
Francis's  Treatise  on  Fishing  in  all  its  Branches.    Post  Svo.  16«, 
Longman's  Chess  Openings.    Fcp.  Svo.  2*.  6d. 

Pole's  Theory  of  the  Modem  Scientific  Game  of  Whist.    Fcp.  Svo.  2*.  6d. 
Proctor's  How  to  Play  Whist.    Crown  Svo.  5*. 

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AGRICULTURE,    HORSES,    DOGS,    AND    CATTLE 

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Lloyd's  The  Boience  of  Agriculture.    8vo.  lit. 

Loudon's  Bncyclopeedia  of  Agriculture.    iU. 

Prothero's  Pioneers  and  Progress  of  Knglish  Fanning.    Crown  8vo.  5t. 

Steel's  Diseases  of  the  Ox,  a  Manual  of  Bovine  Pathology.    8vo.  lit. 

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Btonehenge's  Dog  in  Health  and  Disease.    Square  orown  Sto.  7i.  Sd. 
Taylor's  Agrioultnral  Note  Book.    Fcp.  Svo.  2t.  64. 
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Youatt's  Work  on  the  Dog.    8vo.  6«. 
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OooDBel  and  Comfort  spoken  from  a  City  Pulpit.    Zt.  6<f. 

OraTV  Thoughts  of  a  Country  Parson.    Three  Series.    Zt,  6d.  eatA, 

Laadaoapea,  Churches,  and  Moralitiea.    Zt.  M. 

Leisnre  Honr«  in  Town.    Zt.  M,    Lessons  of  Middle  Age.    3j.  M. 

Our  Homely  Comedy ;  and  Tragedy.    Zt.  6d. 

Our  Little  Life.    Essays  Consolatory  and  Domestic.  Two  Series.  Zt.  64. 

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Beoraations  of  a  Country  Parson.    Three  Series.    Zt.  64.  each. 

BeaddeMosingi  on  Sundays  and  Week-Days.    34.64. 

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Archer's  Masks  or  Faces  ?    A  Study  in  the  Paycliology  of  Acting.    Crown  8vo. 

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Beaconsfleld  (Lord),  The  Wit  and  Wisdom  of.  Crown  Svo.  Ij.  boards ;  It.  64.  d. 
Varrar's  language  and  Languages.    Crown  Svo.  6t. 
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Matthew.-;'  (Brander)  Pen  and  Ink.    Kcpriiitefl  Papers.    Crown  8vn.  5.?. 
Max  Milller's  Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language.    2  vols,  crown  Svo.  I65. 

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—  —      Biographiesof  Words  and  the  Home  of  the  Aryas.   Crown  8vo.7«.«4, 
Rendle  and  Nonnan's  Inns  of  Old  Southwark.    Illustrated.    Royal  Svo.  28<. 
Smith  (Sydney)  The  Wit  and  Wisdom  of.  Crown  Svo.  1*.  boards ;  1*.  64.  cloth. 
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MEDICAL    AND    SURGICAL    WORKS. 

Ashby's  Notes  on  Physiology  for  the  Use  of  Students.  120  Illustrations.  18mo.  'js. 
Ashby  and  Wright's  The  Diseases  of  Children,  Medical  and  Surgical.  Crow-n  8vo. 
Barker's  Short  Manual  of  Surgical  Operations.  With  61  Woodcuts.  Cr.  8vo.  125.  Bd. 
Bentley's  Text-book  of  Organic  ]Materia  Medica.  62  Illustrations.  Cr.  Svo.  7^.  6rf- 
Coats's  Manual  of  Pathology.  With  339  Illustrations.  Svo.  3l5.  6d. 
Cooke's  Tablets  of  Anatomj'.    Post  4to.  7,?.  Gd. 

Dickinson's  Eenal  and  Urinary  Affections.    Complete  in  Three  Parts,  Svo.  with 
12  Plates  and  122  Woodcuts.    £3.  45.  6d.  cloth, 
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Erichsen's  Science  and  Art  of  Surgery.    1 ,025  Engravings.    2  vols.  Svo.  iSs. 

—  Concussion  of  the  Spine,  &a.    Crown  Svo.  10*.  Gd. 

Gairdner  and  Coats's  Lectures  on  Tabes  Mesenterica.  28  Illustrations.  Svo.  125.  Gd. 
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Hassan's  San  Remo  Climatically  and  Medically  Considered.    Crown  Svo.  55. 

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Ladd's  Elements  of  Physiological  Psychology.  With  113  Illustrations.  Svo.  215. 
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Liveing's  Handbook  on  Diseases  of  the  Skin.    Fcp.  Svo.  5*. 

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Mitchell's  Dissolution  and  Evolution  and  the  Science  of  Medicine.    Svo.  16.<. 
Munk's  Euthanasia ;  or.  Medical  Treatment  in  Aid  of  an  Easy  Death.  Cr.  Svo.  45.  Gd. 
Murchison's  Continued  Fevers  of  Great  Britain.    Svo.  255. 

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Paget's  Lectures  on  Surgical  Pathology.    With  131  Woodcuts.    Svo.  2l5. 

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Quain's  (Jones)  Elements  of  Anatomy.  1,000  Illustrations.  2  vols.  Svo.  IS5.  each . 
Quain's  (Dr.  Richard)  Dictionary  of  Medicine.  With  138  Illustrations.  1  vol.  Svo. 

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Salter's  Dental  Pathology  and  Surgery.    With  133  Illustrations,    Svo,  IS5, 
Schafer's  The  Essentials  of  Histology,    With  283  Illustrations.    Svo.  65. 
Smith's  (H.  P.)  The  Handbook  for  Midwives.    With  41  Woodcuts.    Cr.  Svo.  55. 
Smith's  (T.)  Manual  of  Operative  Surgery  on  the  Dead  Body.    46  Illus.   Svo.  V2s. 
Thomson's  Conspectus  adapted  to  the  British  Pharmacopceia  of  1885.    ISmo.  65. 
West's  Lectures  on  the  Diseases  of  Infancy  and  Childhood.    Svo.  I85. 
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Williams's  Pulmonary  Consumption.    With  4  Plates  and  10  Woodcuts.    Svo.  IG5. 
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16 


General  lists  of  Works. 


THE    BADMINTON     LIBRARY. 

Edited  by  the  DuKK  of  Beackort,  K.G.  and  A.  E.  T.  Watsok. 
HuntinST.    By  the  Dnke  of  Beaufort,  K.G.  and  Mowbray  Morris.    With  Con- 
tribntions  by  the  Enrl  of  Suffolk  and  Berkshire.  Bev.  E.  W.  L.  Davie*. 
D'phy  Collins,  and  Alfred  E.  T.  Watson.    With  Colonrcd  Frontispiece  and 
t^^  llhistrations  on  Wood  by  J.  Rtiirgoss,  J.  Chnrlton,  and  Agnes  M.  Biddulph 
Fourth  E<lition.    Crown  «vo.  \Qs.  6d. 
Fishingr*    By  W'  <^holinonde]ey-Pennen.    With  Contributions  by  the  Marquig 
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Davies,  B.  B.  Marston,  &c. 
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